


Delicate Dance

by cadmiumred



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 11:16:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 35,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1896972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadmiumred/pseuds/cadmiumred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had been friends for years, and this was their last opportunity to become something more. But an unexpected intersection brings more questions than answers. AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They had been friends - close friends, best friends - for years and years. After nine years on the Enterprise, countless missions, thousands of breakfasts and a handful of kisses that never truly moved anything forward, they had settled into a comfortable - and occasionally tense - equilibrium.

Years ago, in passing, Beverly had told Deanna that she and Jean-Luc functioned around each other like a pair of satellites orbiting a planet. They stayed in the same general vicinity of each other, but the planet always kept them from collision. Deanna had blinked, then looked away and changed the subject.

Beverly always wondered what Deanna had thought of she and Jean-Luc.

The first time Beverly was at Medical, early on in the Enterprise's tour, she and Jean-Luc didn't speak. No messages, no viewer conversations, nothing. When she came back to the ship, she sat in his ready room while he shared convoluted words that could have been a kind, professional "welcome back" but could also have been an "I missed your presence every day and am overjoyed that you have returned."

She never did figure out what he meant. The years passed, and life on the ship moved forward. Deaths, births, the Borg, other romantic partners and the Kes Prytt experience that they never again spoke of. After the Enterprise was destroyed, she had gone directly to Medical with the wounded and never actually made it back out into the stars. As she was tending the wounded back on Earth, she ran into an admiral who had just heard about the Enterprise, and within hours Starfleet asked her to lead Medical again, since she had done so well previously, and would she be willing to fix what had broken in her absence? So with a mental shrug since she didn't have another assignment lined up at the moment, she again took on the challenge of the division.

The new Enterprise was still in dry dock, and the last she heard Jean-Luc went on leave, relocated to France and went off-planet for a dig.

They never contacted each other.

Seven months had now passed since she had stepped into Medical. She was sitting in her office in San Francisco, looking at her meeting schedule and debating whether to just get up and walk out of her office, hop a transport off of Earth and get away from this desk job, because why the hell did she not remember how much she truly, deeply detested this sort of work?

An incoming encrypted message appeared. Odd. She tapped the screen and brought it up.

INCOMING MESSAGE

From: Picard, Admiral Jean-Luc

To: Crusher, Admiral Beverly

Beverly,

I know that you are leading Medical quite ably, but the new Enterprise is going to be ready in a few days. Would you consider joining the crew as the Chief Medical Officer?

I miss you.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Yours,

She sat, motionless, perplexed and astonished. There was more to this message than a simple invitation to join the crew.

She turned in her chair and looked out the window. Her office was high up in the main skyscraper, and at eye level she could see roundabouts and transport shuttles sliding across the horizon. She looked up into the clear blue sky and in her mind's eye she could see the new Enterprise in dry dock, being prepared for its first mission.

She turned back to the screen and began to compose a resignation letter.

* * *

Of course, after sending her resignation letter to Starfleet and an affirmative response to Jean-Luc (both sent after less than an hour, because really she had made up her mind within seconds of reading his message) there was much to do. So much to do that she and Jean-Luc (once again) didn't have the opportunity to contact each other directly. At least, that's what she told herself in the few moments of silence she was able to find. The messages about her imminent transfer came through Starfleet (which was appropriate), and there was no pressing need to be in touch with Jean-Luc about her new assignment.

* * *

She stood in her bathroom in front of the mirror, realizing that her hands were actually trembling a little bit. Minutes ago she had received a message from him asking to escort her to the Medical Gala she was already planning on attending.

The function was semi-closed, limited to high-ranking medical personnel and their partners. It wasn't a large event; in fact it was small enough and private enough that she was surprised anyone outside of the medical field even knew about it. So when she had received the invitation asking to escort her, she had stopped there in the bedroom, holding her dress in her hands, startled beyond belief.

He had been researching her. And her obligations. And her schedule. This was the last event she had to attend before beaming to the Enterprise the following morning to report for duty.

Tonight was going to be the first time they would speak face to face in nearly a year.

She looked in the mirror and arched a brow at her reflection. Her hair wouldn't stay up - not the way she wanted it to, anyway. With faltering fingers she had been attempting to pin it up so that she had one of those twists that Kathryn Janeway always seemed to have on the holo images when she was talking about Starfleet. But it wasn't working for Beverly - red and silver strands were escaping every which way. She sighed and pulled out the stick holding her twist (somewhat) into place, watching the red and silver strands settle down past her shoulders. With a resigned nod she decided to just let it be.

The door chimed. She swallowed, smoothed down her black gown, and left the bathroom. "Come in," she called, carefully stepping around the containers in the hallway, packed with her belongings.

She stepped into the front room to see Jean-Luc in dress uniform, standing politely and patiently in the middle of the room, looking at the packed containers in piles against the walls. He looked up as she entered the room, and his face went from pleasantly neutral to soft, open, froze, and her stomach flipped at the expression on his face, because she confirmed in that moment that it was going to be different between them now.


	2. Chapter 2

She had simply disappeared after the ship was wrecked, and by the time Jean-Luc was able to track her down a day later, the computer said that she was at Medical, leading the damn division. Again.

He thought about contacting her, but then realized he didn't know what he would say.  _Come live with me in France. Let's pretend Kes Prytt never happened and try to be together._ No. So he tended the vineyards for a month, then went off-planet for a dig, running away from the ghosts, digging through ruins as though he belonged with the other archeology students, scraping dirt off the remnants of a long gone civilization. Each day that passed left him to ruminate on the mess he had made over the years.

He loved Beverly Crusher.

If he pushed for her partnership, there was a chance that she would withdraw from him permanently. But if he didn't try, then she would most certainly stay at Medical, and there would be absolutely no chance, no opportunity.

Months later, the offer to command the Enterprise arrived. He accepted, gave the Federation his preferred crew roster (while telling them to hold off on selecting the chief medical officer), and returned to France. Days before the ship was due to depart dry dock, he sat down at his terminal, took a breath, and sent the message.

Her sparse, yet affirmative reply ("I miss you, too") arrived within an hour.

There was hope. And now it was time to show her how he felt.

* * *

She watched him with a flutter of nervous apprehension as he moved slowly towards her. When he was within arm's reach, he took her hand and slowly spun her around, observing her at all angles to take in her dress, her shoes, her hair.

It had been a very long time since she had been looked at in that way. And it was very new to be receiving such scrutiny from him.

He stopped spinning her and their eyes met. And he smiled and squeezed her hand causing her stomach to flip.  _My goodness…something's changed. Between us._

"I missed you, Beverly," he murmured.

She smiled, couldn't help it, felt captured by his gaze. "I've missed you, too."

"Thank you for allowing me to escort you to the gala. I will have the most beautiful partner in the quadrant."

* * *

As they walked down the San Francisco street he kept glancing at her, smiling. And every time her stomach flipped in response. She took deep breaths, smiling slightly. Cautiously, she let herself begin to drink in the warmth of the sun and the contentment that came from being next to him.

They walked up to the doors of the venue, through shimmering lights strewn through the tree branches. As they approached the doors, he rested his palm against her back and the warmth of his hand was acute against her bare skin. While they'd always had a lax definition of personal space, tonight was different. More intentional.

And she liked it.

* * *

Dinner was surprisingly prompt and pleasant. Cuisine from across the quadrant, a selection of good wine and familiar friends bidding her farewell and best wishes as she ended her work at Medical to go back into the stars. He was attentive, sitting to her left, keeping her glass refilled and passing her savory bites to taste. Again, it was all very new, but she was enjoying it, refusing to overanalyze the situation. He had asked to escort her, and she had accepted, and he was being a perfect partner.

At one point in the meal, another admiral several seats down asked a him question, and he reluctantly turned away from her to answer. As she lifted her wine glass for a sip, she felt his hand on her knee.

* * *

The dinner ended and the crowds dispersed, divided between those who preferred to stand and talk and those who preferred to dance. He invited her to the dance floor, and it was wonderful to be in his arms. He was smooth, bringing back memories of the other Picard from years ago, and she allowed herself to rest in his arms.

"Are you tired?" His quiet murmur drew her from her memories and she met his eyes.

"A bit," she confessed. She really was, after spending the day packing the last of her apartment. He guided her off of the dance floor and they were intercepted by Admiral Jenning, from the security division.

"A moment?" he asked. Picard and Crusher followed him into a private room off the side of the gathering space. Picard and Crusher exchanged a glance, then stood and waited. Admiral Jenning cleared his throat. "There's a mission. The Enterprise's deployment has been delayed. The Federation needs the two of you elsewhere."

Jennings leaned close. "You need to leave tomorrow - the Renegade will pick you up tomorrow afternoon…"

* * *

She walked beside him in the evening light as the moon shone down upon the streets of San Francisco. After the orders, they had silently left the gala. She was just…confused. The intoxicating bubble of closeness they had formed over the previous hours, from the subtle touches to the smiles to the dancing…she felt cold. Like stone. It had been taken away. And she couldn't read his silence. Was he honoring her silence, or had he withdrawn?

They stopped in front of her home. She looked at him - really looked at him - in the moonlight. The lines of his face were so familiar. He was waiting for her to lead. "Come in," she stated, then turned and he followed. They entered and she set her bag down on the table, slipped off her shoes, went to the replicator. "Water?"

"Yes, please."

She handed him the glass and their hands brushed together and it was like a spark, a flame in the darkness. He drank, then set down the glass, turned to her. They were face to face, in front of each other. She waited.

"Beverly, over the past year, I realized that I missed you. I miss you now."

"I missed you, too, Jean-Luc," she replied cautiously.  _What do I want?_  And she realized that she was _hungry_  - hungry for touch, for closeness, for him. Not just anyone -  _for him_. She had been on several dates over the past months - nice men but none of them lit her fire, brought her out of her shell. And she was standing in front of him now… _hungry_.

And he leaned forward and kissed her.

She had  _almost_  expected it, but it was still a surprise - and they had kissed before over the years, but this time he was barely restrained - instinctively she opened her mouth underneath his and a noise came from the back of his throat. Her hands were on his face, pulling him closer and his palms were pressed firmly against her back.

He pulled back and pressed his lips against her cheek, then rested his cheek against hers, let out a shaky breath. She slid her hands down his neck to his arms. She drank in the smell of him, which was so familiar after all these years. Then she leaned back and looked at him.

"Beverly, we've waited entirely too long to be together. I realized that over the past year I've...missed you. And if I make you happy, then we should be together..."

Their comm badges chimed before she could reply.


	3. Chapter 3

Picard rubbed his face. It was the middle of the night, and they hadn't slept yet, and they hadn't talked at all. The Renegade had picked them up with almost no warning, leaving them standing awkwardly in formal wear in a bright and chilly transporter room, being debriefed by the captain.

And now the two of them were on board the little shuttle, headed towards the anomaly. He glanced over at her seated beside him, idly tracing patterns on the console. She still looked distractingly lovely in her black gown, especially with all that creamy skin revealed in the back, but he could see dark circles forming under her eyes.

"Beverly, would you like to go and rest? I'm happy to cover the helm while we travel." She nodded and silently went to the back of the vessel, and Picard wondered what she was thinking about. They had not exchanged a single sentence since her apartment. He heard the door to the back of the vessel slide shut, and the ship was silent save for a few errant chirps, leaving Picard alone to his thoughts.

The next thing he knew, he was waking up to a hand on his shoulder. He looked up sheepishly, realizing that he had fallen asleep at the helm. She smiled down at him. "Perhaps you should have been the one to rest," she told him. He smiled in return, but noticed that she still looked tired. She had changed into a standard uniform and done something different with her hair, so it was straighter, brushing her shoulders. She sat down beside him.

"This is an unexpected journey, Jean-Luc."

"And what is this?" he asked cautiously, somewhat confused at her statement. At that, she smiled softly, carefully. "Us. Together." And he understood then - this was her way of determining if they could work together - and be together, as well.

She leaned back her seat with a wry smile. "Well, and a wormhole. It's not everyday you get to go through a wormhole, not knowing precisely what is on the other side and if it wants to destroy you."

* * *

Moments later, the roundabout approached the wormhole and slid through without any mishap, reappearing in a sector of space very much like the place they'd just left. Except for the presence of a federation vessel. A vessel that looked very much like the new Enterprise E.

Picard's fingers tapped across the board. "We're being scanned. Thoroughly."

"Mmm. Not surprised. I suspect we'll be hailed in a moment." The comm chirped, and he smiled at her accuracy. Across the speakers came a familiar voice.

"This is the Enterprise. Please state the nature of your mission."

Picard startled a bit. He recovered quickly, however, and replied. "This is Jean-Luc Picard. We were told that we may be of assistance to you."

Silence. Then: "Prepare to be brought aboard the Enterprise. Picard out." And a tractor beam firmly entrenched the small roundabout, and it slowly headed towards the Enterprise.

"Well." Beverly laced her hands over her knee. "This is going to be interesting. I don't know if I can handle two of you."

* * *

As the roundabout's aft door raised, Picard observed a security team and a stiff doppelgänger waiting for his exit. Picard carefully indicated that he was not armed, noted the somewhat familiar faces of the security crew, and approached the other captain. Beverly quietly waited inside.

"I mean no harm. I come from…another universe. We bring information."

His mirror looked him up and down, then nodded once. "Security, stand down. If you're seeking information, then perhaps we can be of service. But you'll need to tell me who else is in that shuttle." He tugged down his uniform front.

Picard turned around to see Crusher carefully exited at a slow pace, hands up as well.

"Beverly." At the word from the mirror captain, Picard turned back - and was astonished at the expression on the man's face. He looked like, well…a man who saw someone he cared about very much.  _Do I look like that when I see her?_

Beverly came to stand beside Picard, arms crossed loosely in front of her. The mirror Picard cleared his throat. "Well. I think you should both come with me."

* * *

In the private conference room, Picard and Crusher finished updating the mirror Picard about the Sora situation, explaining that they were attempting to determine what the Sora were hiding in this mirror universe.

The mirror captain crossed his fingers, leaned forward across the table towards the pair. "In our universe, the Sora are building an army. And designing a virus that is intended to kill off most humanoid species across the quadrant. This ship is a decoy; we're attempting to distract the Sora while my wife-" At that statement, the pair stiffened in surprise. "-Beverly, works on a vaccine at Medical back on Earth. We're racing against time until the Sora decide to attack - unless you two have information that could assist us…?" He looked expectantly at the pair.

"We do," Beverly said. Both Picards turned to look at Crusher in surprise. "We have a vaccine. I created it. And my Jean-Luc-" And inside Picard softened at the term of endearment. "-defeated the Sora in a battle last year. We can help you."

The mirror Picard stared at the intent pair for a moment, then nodded once. "Then we have work to do. If we can destroy the Sora here in this universe, your universe should be safe from invasion. And perhaps your vaccine will work here, as well. After you help us, I'll make sure you get back to where you came from."

* * *

Crusher walked beside the mirror Picard down a deserted corridor towards the lift. She was lost in thought, thinking about the virus structure - and about Jean-Luc. Both Jean-Lucs. When they entered the lift, she turned and looked at him.

"Jean-Luc." Her voice was soft, gentle.

"Halt lift." He turned and faced her, gazed at her face like he was a man starved for the sight of her. "I miss my wife. We're under orders to maintain silence, and we haven't spoken in two months. I miss her presence. And you…I know you're not…my Beverly. But. It is good to…be with you."

They stood silently, and Beverly watched as his eyes filled with tears, and she noted just how vulnerable he looked. He slowly moved a hand towards her face, cupped her cheek with his palm.

Beverly moved forward on an impulse, suddenly wrapping her arms around him and pressing her face against his cheek. She inhaled, taking in the scent of him, and softly kissed his cheek, then pulled back, sliding her hands down his arms.

"I'm sure she misses you, too. Deeply." Her voice was a quiet murmur in the silent lift.

A nearly imperceptible frown slid across his face. "Why aren't you with your Jean-Luc?" She stiffened at his blunt question, but he continued. "He loves you, you know. It's evident by the way he looks at you."

Her mouth dropped open. "It's…complicated. And we're working on it," she breathed.

"Mmm." He arched a brow and stepped away, and suddenly she felt very alone. "Computer, resume lift. Beverly, there's someone I want you to meet in Sickbay." She stepped away, crossed her arms, looked at the wall of the lift.


	4. Chapter 4

Picard pointed the way and Beverly waited alone in the office, fidgeting a bit. She walked over to the desk and peered down. It looked…empty. Her counterpart had been off the ship for two months, and it showed. The office looked…barren. No pads strewn across the desk, no tricorder...she idly slid her fingers across the smooth surface.

"Um, hi." Beverly looked at the door, towards the direction of the quiet voice - and froze. A young man stood in the doorway, wearing a blue and black medical uniform and blue smock. Strong features, blue eyes, dark hair, thin but broad frame - and he sounded just like Jean-Luc. The same warm timbre to his tone. Picard stood slightly behind him, watching the exchange intently.

"Dad explained what happened. And that you're my mom's counterpart from…another universe. And he told me to come say hello. And ask if you wanted some help with your research?" He walked towards her, reached out his hand.

She didn't move. Couldn't move. She was astonished.  _We_   _have a son together. Why didn't I think of this? Why didn't I ever think of…this? What our child would look like? What could be? Or could have been?_ She inhaled sharply, took his hand, noted his firm handshake, his tentative smile. Drank in his features.

"You look a lot like my mom," he said. She smiled sheepishly, and the sparkle in his eye looked just like his father.

"I…well. Hello. It's a pleasure to meet you…?"

"Oh! Victor. I'm Victor. Hi." His smile deepened to reveal a deep dimple in his right cheek. And she couldn't help but smile in return.

* * *

Picard stood in the conference room, meeting with the science and tactical team. They slid into conversation about the battle that the medical fleet had engaged in and prepared to incapactiate the Sora army. After nearly an hour, the mirror captain arrived. Several officers seemed amused at the presence of the two captains and left the room with smiles on their faces.

Picard sat, as did the mirror Picard.

"We have one more visitor on the way. She'll be here in a moment." And the doors slid open to reveal a tall, slim young woman in science blue, with red hair, blue eyes and a graceful smile. She came over to the table, sat down, and Picard was speechless.  _Why didn't I expect this? I never allowed myself to imagine...oh my._

"Hello." Her voice was quiet, and he realized that she was younger than he thought. Nineteen? Twenty? And she looked just like Beverly - from the way she sat to the way she folded her hands on the table and glanced at her father-  _I'm a father in this universe. With Beverly. We're together...and happy_. Unexpectedly, his throat tightened with emotion.

* * *

In Sickbay, Beverly showed Victor how to craft the substances needed to culture the vaccine. As they worked, he hummed. Suddenly, he stopped humming, but still continued to manipulate the culture. "So what happened between the two of you?" His eyes never left the culture, but she had the sense that he was fully aware of her every expression, her every move.

And she knew that this young man was referring to her relationship with Jean-Luc.

She took a deep breath to cover her sudden nervousness. "Nothing happened. We're...well..."

"Ah."

His tone rubbed her the wrong way. She stopped what she was doing and turned towards him, putting her hands on her hips. "And just what does 'ah' mean?"  _He sounds just like his father…and I sound just like a mother._

He stopped working as well, turned and faced her, still holding the tool in his hand, gesturing. "Nothing. Happened. That's your problem.  _Nothing. Happened._  Look, I'm not here to play matchmaker, and I don't even know exactly why Papa sent me to work with you - anyone could do this work. He probably wanted me to meet you. But anyway - I can tell that you are not happy. And I know that my mom  _et ma pere_  are happy. Joyful. Content. I've never, ever seen Papa like this until Mom left to go to Medical - he's so despondent, so  _fragmented_. He misses Mom. And I see the sadness in him reflected in you - and I've just met you!" He held her gaze for a long moment, then huffed out a breath, closed his eyes.

"You're wasting time. You don't know how much time you have together until it runs out."

* * *

The mirror captain was called to the bridge, leaving Picard alone in the conference room with this young woman. He was having trouble making sense of the sight of this poised young woman in front of him, this woman who had Beverly's hair, blue eyes, graceful frame...

"How old are you?"  _Merde, that wasn't a gracious greeting._

"I'm twenty-one. I'm supposed to be at the Academy, but Earth was evacuated. Mom's still there, though - we think. We assume so. She's at Medical, working on a vaccine against the Sora threat. She's been gone two months now."

Picard watched as she took a deep breath, then met his gaze again.

"So. Victor and I are here - evacuated from the Academy and sent to stay with Papa. Mom will come back as soon as she can. I miss her. Papa misses her, too. Terribly. I've…well. I've never seen him like this."

"Victor?" His mouth was dry.

"My brother. He's a medical officer, finishing his field rotation here on the Enterprise, since we can't be at the Academy." A son as well?  _Merde_...

"So. What is your Beverly to you?"

Picard blinked at the abrupt change of subject, the directness that was a splitting image of her mother. And knew that he was in over his head with this young woman.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Picard was leaning back in his chair, watching Sophie talk. He had successfully redirected her from asking about his relationship with Beverly by asking about her studies and her work on this Enterprise. At the moment, she was gesturing, explaining some experiment she was taking part in down in Engineering. _She looks like her mother._

The doors slid open to reveal the mirror captain, Crusher and a young man following close behind, in a medical uniform.  _Victor_ , thought Picard, and stood to greet him.

The mirror captain began to speak. "Unfortunately, we need to get you back to the wormhole as soon as possible. While it would be a pleasure to visit with the two of you, the Sora seem to be preparing for battle, and we need to get you out of this universe before engaging. But I thought you'd-" and he nodded at Picard, "-want to meet Victor before leaving."

Victor went up to Picard, held out his hand. "Sir." But his smile belied the serious greeting. Beverly and Sophie greeted one another as well, and Picard saw out of the corner of his eye that they were the same height.

Suddenly, the deck shifted. The mirror captain spoke. "We need to get you off this ship."

* * *

After a sprint down to the shuttlebay, Picard and Crusher jumped into the shuttle and sped back towards the wormhole, away from the battle. "Beverly, I'm going to maximum warp-"

"That's fine. Get us out of here and get us home." The pair tapped at the console, urging the sturdy roundabout through evasive maneuvers. After several tense minutes, the roundabout darted into the wormhole and reappeared on the other side - back in the original universe.

"All intact and back home. Let's get back to the Enterprise." He felt himself settling into the routine motions of piloting a roundabout already set on autopilot, avoiding engagement with Beverly. Finally, he leaned back and sighed. "We'll be back on the ship in six hours."

She nodded.

"Our daughter reminded me so much of you." He blinked, surprised at the words that had just come out of his mouth.

"We don't have a daughter." He was taken aback at the flatness of her voice, turned and looked at her.

"My apologies. Their daughter was - I assume - a splitting image of her mother."

"We can't go back in time, Jean-Luc. We don't have what they have."

"I wasn't asking for that," he whispered sadly.

She stared at him for a moment, then turned and faced the viewscreen.

"Beverly, what is it?"

She was silent for a moment, then looked at him with an expression he couldn't decipher. "That Jean-Luc was happy. Content. He loved his wife."

Picard was silent, wondered where she was going.

"He loved her. They loved each other. Victor gave me a copy of their family holos. I'm afraid to look at them."

"Afraid?"

"Afraid that it will feel too...natural. Too good. I'm afraid of loving you. And afraid that you'll want something I can't give you. We can't go back in time and claim what never existed."

She bit her lip, something he had never really seen her do, and suddenly she looked very...lost.  _No, hopeless._  Like the love of her life had been taken away from her-  _merde, I've seen her look this despondent before..._

"Maybe we're too late, Jean-Luc. Maybe we've been in love with the idea of love, not what we actually have." She swallowed, looked down.

He leaned over and covered her hands with his.

"As appealing as that universe was, I choose this universe. With you. Right now. And we have something between us - something good, something whole, something real - something that belongs to us. So...trust me. Trust us together. We will shape this love, this life together."

She looked at him and he didn't know if she believed him, and at that moment his resolve strengthened even more.

"You're still coming with me to the Enterprise…?" He intended it to be a statement, but it turned into a question, because he (as well as anyone) knew that she would do what she wanted.

She sat motionless for a moment, then nodded, holding his gaze. "Yes. I'll come with you. And let's…try. And see what happens."

* * *

As he spoke, covering her hands with his, she was unnerved by his intensity...ah. He was afraid. She saw it now, the tightness around his eyes, the faint tremor in his hands. He was afraid that she was no longer going to go to the Enterprise with him. Strangely, his nervousness calmed her down. She was facing the unknown, yes, but they were both facing new territory.

She smiled at him and watched as he nearly sagged with relief. She was ready, ready for this delicate dance to begin in earnest between the two of them, because going to a gala? Dancing? A kiss in her packed apartment? That had been good but this,  _this_  was real. They were going onto a ship together, and preparing to serve alongside each other (hell, technically, she outranked him, having served as an admiral at Medical) but they would be public, and they were on the edge of becoming something more than what they had maintained all these years.

"So while we try, what do you want from me?" she asked him. His eyes widened imperceptibly, and he sat back in his chair, leaving her without his touch, which made her a bit sad, but it was time to negotiate, so it was probably a good thing.

"Share my quarters, Beverly." He watched her steadily for her reaction.

"No. It's too soon." She held herself still, and she watched his face fall imperceptibly, and realized that he had been  _serious_.  _Oh my._

"I want to spend my nights with you, Beverly." She continued to sit motionless in her chair, but she felt herself flushing against her will. He certainly wasn't holding anything back.

"I don't really think we're to that point yet, Jean-Luc," she replied, then mentally berated herself.  _Yet? What a choice of words._

"Yet?" He asked quietly, with a raised brow and a mischievous smile. She couldn't help but smile in return at his amusement.

"We'll see. What else?"

"Share meals with me."

"I'll have breakfast with you." And at that he leaned towards her again, and his voice softened. "Beverly, we're not going back to how we were before. We'll make this work. But you have to give me  _something_. I'll give you  _anything_ you ask for."

She blinked, startled. He was serious. He was fully invested. In her. In them. Together.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Camille York, captain of the Renegade, stood silently beside her first officer as they watched as the two officers exit the shuttlecraft. She clasped her hands behind her back to disguise her nervousness. She had to inform them that they would not in fact be taken to the Enterprise, but had been assigned to a diplomatic negotiation. The Enterprise had already departed on its first mission, minus its captain and chief medical officer.

York was not happy about being the bearer of this news. Commander Forte was aware of her discomfort, and stoically stood beside her, also watching Picard and Crusher approach.

"Captain. Admiral," York said.

"Please, call me Doctor," said Crusher, stepping off of the platform in tandem with the captain. York's eyebrow quirked.  _Interesting choice of title._

York took a deep breath, then began to explain the situation as Forte handed them both padds with the full mission details. Crusher and Picard stood motionlessly, almost eerie in their stillness, taking in the news. York noticed that they had the same posture – attentive, chins up, holding the padds with both hands. Interesting.

When York was finished sharing what she knew (which certainly didn't take long), Picard glanced at Crusher, who seemed very…neutral? She began looking down at her padd, scrolling through something. Picard then returned his attention to York.

"We understand. If those are the orders, then we'll just be going to our quarters to get some rest and prepare for the negotiations."

York blinked in surprise, noting that Forte tilted his head in surprise at their reaction. That was it? No protest? No dismay that their flagship had left without them, leaving them to complete some negotiation on a non-Federation world? Well then. But first...

"Sirs, actually, Commander Forte is here to escort Doctor Crusher to Sickbay so that she can view the lab and request any changes to be completed by the morning. The research team is waiting for her. I do apologize; I'm aware that the two of you have been on a special mission and haven't had much rest..."

York watched Crusher glance up at Picard with an apologetic look. He met her eyes for a long moment, then seemed to realize that he was in the middle of a group conversation. He looked back at York and nodded once, smiled wanly.

* * *

Beverly appreciated Forte's silence as they walked through the corridors of the Renegade. After a few short statements, Forte seemed content to walk beside her quietly. It was the middle of the night, and few crew members were out and about on the vessel. The corridors looked like nearly every other ship she had been on; she felt disoriented, due to lack of sleep.

They entered Sickbay, and the lights were dimmed due to ship's night. The facility was standard, with biobeds and displays all around. A nurse noticed her entry and waved her back towards the research lab, and she stepped away from Forte to enter – oh my. There was a full research team waiting for her in the lab, even though it was the middle of the night. They looked up from their conversation at her entry, with welcoming smiles.

As introductions began, she shook the hand of the chief medical officer - and stopped in surprise as their eyes met. It was Logan Wilson. They had gone to the Academy, then Medical together, and even spent some time in a relationship long, long ago before realizing that they were indeed better off as friends. It was good to see him; they always got along very well, and he was brilliant. Fond memories of long, late night talks arose, and his smile seemed quite genuine, drawing out her own grin.

Once the introductions were finished, another doctor pulled up her research on the main viewer, and she began to speak to the team.

* * *

York walked with Picard to the guest quarters. He was pleasant, making small talk about her vessel, which was kind; her ship was nothing special compared to a galaxy-class vessel, but his interest seemed genuine, which she appreciated. He looked exhausted, however, and she wondered when he had last slept.

As she left him at the guest quarters with a pleasant good night, she thought about the two newest guests on her ship. She knew that Picard and Crusher had served with each other for years before the Enterprise was destroyed, and she'd never had any reason to muse about their relationship – the Enterprise was a ship that didn't intersect with her modest vessel. But as she walked down the quiet corridor, she found herself wondering what went on on that ship. There was…something between these two. Not sure what, but…there was something. Absently, York thought about her own CMO…and immediately ended that train of thought with a wrinkled nose and a frown.  _No thank you._


	7. Chapter 7

Crusher was lost in her own thoughts as she slowly walked to her guest quarters, hands in the pockets of the blue smock Wilson had given her when she kept looking for a place to put her tricorder. York's announcement upon their arrival had been quite a surprise, but when York had mentioned the Trium, Beverly's mind went back several years. After Kes Prytt, she had been interested - deeply interested - in how humans and other non-telepathic species could acquire telepathic traits. When she was at Medical, she had come across two tiny, isolated samples from the Trium race. Little was known about them, other than their hive-like communities. And that their run of the mill viruses could affect humanoid brains in areas related to communication. Crusher's research had ended with speculation that continued exposure could force humanoid brains to gain empathic or telepathic powers. But she had no more samples to work with, so her research was at an impasse.

Now the Trium were asking for Federation assistance with agriculture, of all things, and diplomacy. This gave the Federation leverage to secure additional samples. Crusher was very curious about the Trium; she had never met a Trium in person and was curious about how they would communicate with those outside of their race.

The lift stopped, and she stepped out, treading slowly, steadily, exhaustion forcing her to focus on every step, then down the corridor to a set of doors that opened up for her. With a slow blink, she took in the spacious living area of a family-style cabin, with a larger common area and several open doors along the perimeter, revealing comfortable bedrooms. Distantly, Beverly realized that the newer, smaller vessels featured this housing style, suitable for research teams or families to travel long tours together. She stepped inside the main area slowly, looking around, and she recognized her small bag on a shelf against the wall. Upon closer inspection, she saw that her black dress - the one from the gala that she had hastily shoved inside her bag when they got on the shuttle - was carefully arranged on a hanger. She blinked in surprise. And the holocube from the other universe was sitting beside her small bag.

Apparently Jean-Luc ( _at least I assume it was Jean-Luc?_ ) had unpacked her bag for her.

She remembered an offhand comment she made while in the shuttle. She had mentioned that she liked that dress, and she didn't have occasion to wear dresses like that very often, so as soon as they got to the Enterprise, she would be sure to hang it up and save it for the next big event.

He had remembered. If it had been anyone else unpacking her bag, she would have found it profoundly invasive. But if Jean-Luc had done it...it somehow felt okay. Kind, even.

And then she saw the main table in the eating area. A carafe of water and two glasses were on the table, one glass half full, the other empty, waiting to be filled.  _Apparently we're sharing these quarters? Or he had a drink and then left?_  She went over to the pitcher and poured a measure of water into the empty glass, drank deeply. As she set the glass down, she looked across the room into one of the bedrooms.

Visible was a relaxed Jean-Luc sitting on top of a bed, dressed in black, holding a padd, the lights dimmed to fifty percent. He was watching her, and when she met his eyes, he smiled. Her stomach flipped. He looked so content. And intoxicating, in those black lounge pants and shirt, no boots or socks...

_We_ are  _sharing quarters. My goodness. Did he wait up for me? It's practically morning. And we haven't had a decent night's sleep since Earth. And he's dressed for bed._ With a weary but pleased smile that she hoped covered the nervousness blossoming in her stomach, she walked over and leaned against the doorframe, watching him. He held her gaze, looking utterly relaxed on the bed.

"Good morning, Beverly." His quiet murmur carried across the bedroom, and the sound of it caused a slight thrill up her spine. His voice felt so intimate, and he was obviously waiting for her, on his bed...

"I suppose it is morning," she mused, licking her lips. Her fatigue came rushing back, then, and she sagged a bit more against the doorframe. His bed looked so comfortable...

He patted beside him. "You look tired. Come sit down. How was Sickbay?"

She stayed leaning in the entryway, not sure about actually joining him on the bed. It felt so  _intimate_. And anyway, she was still in uniform, which made it feel odd. But if she were not in uniform, that would be also be odd, but in a different way...  _Focus, Beverly_. "It was fine. There's a strong research team ready to work. And I flagged some reports for you to read before we meet the Trium."

"I saw." He lifted the padd. "I've been reading them. Your primary research report is quite...interesting." He paused, watching her carefully. "Come join me?" He asked tentatively.

She hesitated in the doorway.

"Just come sit down, Beverly. That's all."

A stab of confused disappointment slid through her at his final statement, but she pushed it aside. She  _was_ exhausted, and all she wanted was to sit down. And she wasn't ready to sleep yet. Slowly, she walked over to the opposite side of the bed, then sat down on the edge, not facing him. "I'm wearing my boots still."  _Goodness, I sound weary. And a bit whiny._

"So take them off," he replied from behind her, seemingly unconcerned.

She took them off, then sat fully on bed, on top of the covers. It was a comfortable bed. A  _very_ comfortable bed. And she was damn tired. She leaned back against the abundant mound of pillows, looking across the room, listening as he leaned back as well. A companionable silence fell.

After a moment, he spoke. "You wrote a report about Kes Prytt."

"Not about Kes Prytt, per se, but about the potential for developing telepathic connections within humanoids. Our experiences were an excellent case study."

"I suppose they were. And the Trium can act as a catalyst for developing telepathic abilities?"

She shifted. This bed was  _fantastic_. Perfectly firm underneath her aching back. "Yes. We need another viral sample to learn more, however."

"We will arrive in about eleven hours. Perhaps we can secure a sample as we negotiate."

"Good to know." She sighed again, turned her head and looked at him. He lifted his brows with a slight smile, inviting her to speak.

"This bed is very comfortable, Jean-Luc." She was drifting, truly relaxed for the first time in hours, days, and the words had simply slipped out...

"It is. You should stay."

She remained silent then, not sure how to respond, still holding his gaze. The firm bed made her feel languid, calm, but sharing a bed? She wasn't entirely sure that was a good idea.

"Computer, dim lights to ten percent," he said softly, then got up and headed towards the main door in the near darkness. "Stay, Beverly. Let's get a few hours of sleep before we begin the negotiations. I replicated clothes for you. They're in the bathroom." He nodded towards the other doorway in the room. "I'm going to get some water. Would you like some?" He stepped out of the bedroom then, presumably to the water carafe and glasses.

She sat up in shock. He planned this? Well, no, not quite. She knew him. He had  _hoped_ for this. Hoped that she would spend the night ( _well, the morning_ ) beside him. Well, why not? She had no good reason to say no. Although perhaps her inability to come up with a reason stemmed from the fact that she hadn't had a full night's sleep since…Earth?

_Oh hell. Why not?_  She got up and went into the bathroom, closed the door before she could change her mind, realized she didn't tell him that she didn't need any water. And sure enough, there was a set of silk pajamas on the counter. They were her size, in a rich, vibrant black, soft and smooth to the touch.


	8. Chapter 8

Picard had nearly given up on waiting for her and was seriously considering climbing under the covers to go to sleep when she entered their quarters with a weary sigh of relief. He heard her stop, out of sight, then walk slowly towards his line of sight, to the water pitcher. She looked simply exhausted, shuffling steps, shoulders slumped, as she poured a glass of water and drank deeply, her hair falling behind her shoulders in the starlight. He was stuck once again by the clean lines of her profile, familiar after all these years. And she had acquired a lab coat since he saw her last, which he found quite amusing and somewhat unsurprising. Then she had put the glass down and seen him there in the bedroom.

Their conversation was careful, easy, and he invited her beside him. Her flagging posture made him itch to get up, go to her, carry her in his arms and place her in bed, but he held himself carefully still, hoping he didn't give away just how much he wanted to be closer to her. And when she sat on the bed, took off her boots and laid down, it was all he could do to refrain from leaning over and kissing her to make her smile. But as she gradually relaxed beside him, he waited. And when she looked at him, he saw the dark circles under her eyes, and he knew she needed to sleep. So he left, giving her a moment to get ready for bed.

When he returned, she was climbing under the covers, dressed in the black pajamas he replicated for her. He admired the contrast of the dark silk against the skin of her neck, and the flash of collarbone revealed as she pulled the sheets up toward her chin. She settled back against the pillows with a sigh, closing her eyes, as he climbed into the other side of the bed, laying on his back.

"Jean-Luc?"

"Yes, my dear?"  _Ah, I didn't mean to call her that._

A long silence, then a quiet murmur, "We need to go to Sickbay before we beam down. Establish a baseline of our physiology, in case there are reactions with the Trium."

"That's fine."

"Thank you for hanging up my dress."

He smiled up into the darkness, turned his head to look at her. "You're welcome. I hope you'll wear it again. For me."

She laughed softly and looked at him, her eyes glittering in the starlight. "Perhaps it's good that we have some time alone together on the Renegade. A bit of privacy before we reach the Enterprise."

His breath caught. This was another explicit step forward, especially since she had lapsed into silence for most of the shuttle ride to the Renegade. Her eyes were sleepy in the darkness, and she smiled shyly at him.

"Good night, Jean-Luc." She turned onto her side, away from him, and he watched the gentle curve of her hips under the covers for a long time.

* * *

She woke to sounds from the bathroom. She felt rested. Surprisingly rested, and she laid there, savoring the feel of the warm bed. And then she looked over as Jean-Luc came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, and nothing else. His chest was firm, with a dusting of hair, and his arms were defined. The smell of damp air wafted from the portal, and another scent - ah, it was his cologne? His soap? There were undertones of sandalwood, and it was so familiar that she smiled at him. And with a jolt she realized that she was appreciating the view.

Distantly she realized that he had stopped and was smiling at her, too. And a blush started to creep up her chest onto her cheeks. She was pretty sure that she had never seen him like this before - relaxed, casually shirtless, still a little damp. It felt very, very intimate. _  
_

"Good morning, Beverly." Ah, his voice. It was low, warm, familiar. _Goodness, we just spent the night together, and he sounds rather satisfied with himself._ She might as well enjoy these few moments together before they had to get to work. She smiled widely up at him.

* * *

He left the bathroom to see her staring at him (well, his chest) with a faint smile. He had assumed she would still be asleep when he was finished showering, but apparently he was wrong. "Good morning, Beverly," he murmured, and her eyes snapped up from his chest to his eyes, and he watched her begin to blush and he began to do the same with a quiet laugh.

"It's all yours," and he gestured towards the bathroom. She threw back the covers and got up and stretched, and he was taken aback at how...well. She was lovely. And he had spent the night next to her. Well. She walked towards the bathroom, crossed in front of him, and seemingly absently reached out and slid her fingers against his stomach, then entered and closed the door.

Well.  _Well_. Things were getting interesting.


	9. Chapter 9

She left the bedroom, dressed in uniform and lab coat, and found him placing a basket of croissants on the little table by the window. He glanced up, "I made coffee," nodded towards the steaming carafe. She smiled and gratefully poured a cup of coffee, took a sip of the steaming brew. He slid a padd towards her, tapped at the report on the screen. "Beverly, I have to ask..does the research team know that you and I were the two subjects in your report?"

She set down the mug, taking in his careful posture.  _What is he afraid of?_

"No. They only know that I studied the two subjects in depth. Which is most certainly true," she said almost to herself, as the side of her mouth quirked up in an involuntary smile.

He nodded, looking down, then up, as if he had reconciled something in his mind. "You do realize that I love you, Beverly, don't you?" He was quite matter of fact with his pronouncement, and her eyes widened at the unexpected turn of the conversation, along with the unnerving intensity with which he was gazing at her.  _Well, yes, but-_

He stepped closer to her, so that they were face to face, and since she was dressed in uniform and boots, nearly eye to eye. His voice dropped to a focused murmur. "Beverly, I love you in every single sense of the word." She stopped breathing, mesmerized by his intensity, distracted by his closeness.

"And I intend on making sure that everyone else knows it, as well."

She blinked slowly, in utter shock now. And he leaned forward and kissed her.  _Oh my._  It was firm, full of intent and just on the edge of forceful, then he drew back a tiny bit, lingered, and she felt herself softening underneath his mouth, and she felt his hand slide underneath her hair against her neck, and his palm and fingers completely covered the back of her neck, his thumb brushing against her ear as he pulled her against him. Her hands went up between them and her palms pressed against his chest, the fabric of his uniform warm against her hands.

This was a very, very good kiss. He pulled back and she felt herself leaning back towards him, missing the contact, missing him, and he slid his cheek against hers. "We're supposed to be going to Sickbay, aren't we?" He whispered into her ear.

 _What? Sickbay? Oh. Oh. Yes. Sickbay._  She backed up slowly, meeting his eyes, distracted by his closeness and also a little tiny bit irritated that his mere kiss could disorient her so. Perhaps the reason she had stayed at arms' length from him all these years was because they didn't have the time to simply fall into bed together. The chemistry was just that potent.

"Beverly." It was a statement, not a question, and he gently kissed underneath her ear, in the hollow, and she shivered. "Sickbay," he whispered.

"Hmmm. Yes, Sickbay." She stepped back and broke their physical contact, needing a moment, and he was watching her face - ah, he was endearingly nervous, not nearly as confident as he had sounded when whispering in her ear. He was assessing whether he had crossed a line too soon. She gave him a reassuring smile, then, impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed him again. This time, her hands were on his face, and she guided him.

Far too soon, she pulled back with a contented sigh. "We should be going to Sickbay. And I love you, too, Jean-Luc. I have for a very, very long time." He smiled at her, and her stomach flipped.  _This is going to be so much fun._

* * *

They walked down the corridor towards Sickbay, just like they had hundreds of times before on the former Enterprise. But this time, his hand brushed against hers. In the past, hands brushing against each other  _happened_ , but it was an unspoken rule that such contact was reserved for behind closed doors, giving comfort or reassurance. The brush of his hand against hers, in the middle of the corridor, it was new, different.

Sickbay was just around the bend. The clear doors slid open at their approach, the pair entered, and Beverly smiled at the warm, familiar bustle of energy. It was midday, and there were doctors, nurses, crew, patients sitting, standing, talking, healing. It felt alive and vibrant. She saw Wilson from across the room, and he lifted his chin in a greeting and came towards them across the main bay with a smile.

"Beverly, you look well rested. And lovely as usual." He gently, almost absently touched her arm, then greeted Picard. She turned to watch them, glanced at Jean-Luc, then focused sharply. He was glowering at Wilson, darkness radiating off of him. His expression…well, she hadn't seen that expression on him since the previous Enterprise. He was flat, closed off, icy cool.

Withdrawn. And furious at something.

It disturbed her.

* * *

Picard and Crusher stood in the middle of Sickbay as Wilson evaluated the two, explaining what he was doing. "I'm recording a baseline for your brainwave signatures. As Dr. Crusher said, there's something about the chemical makeup of the Trium that has the potential to affect other humanoids and their thought processes. Ideally, this will be manifested only as simple headaches and generalized physical pain, but we'll make sure that we observe your brainwave signatures just in case."

With that proclamation, he snapped closed his tricorder with a warm smile. "You're both free to go. I hope the negotiations go well. And Beverly, take good care of my lab coat."


	10. Chapter 10

As he walked down the corridor beside her, he could still feel the press of her lips against his mouth, the bitter hint of coffee present, and the warmth on his face when she had pressed her palms against him. This morning's kiss brought back the vivid memory of their kiss on Earth, even though it felt like it was a lifetime ago. But that memory was intoxicating, delicious. And this morning's kiss had been simply irresistible.

This morning, he had awakened first, turned over and saw her sleeping peacefully next to him, on her back, breathing gently. Beverly at rest was a sight he had rarely glimpsed, usually experienced when they were under duress: trapped on a planet, waiting for rescue, or curled up around a dying campfire, lying on the hard ground. To see her content, relaxed, asleep in a bed beside him? Perfect. Just perfect. And this morning, as she sipped her coffee, he decided that he needed to kiss her again. So he did.

Now they walked down the corridor, and he carefully and deliberately brushed against her hand. She didn't look at him, but he still saw the upward tilt of her mouth as she gazed straight ahead. Then they had walked into Sickbay, and her smile expanded until it was wonderfully full, and she looked so contented. Her shoulders had straightened and he knew that she was at home. But then Wilson had come over and touched her. Wilson touched her arm, in full view of the entire Sickbay, as if he was deeply familiar with her.

Beverly was always warm and open with her medical crew, but this interaction was somehow different. It was too intimate. A flare of anger sliced through Picard and caught him by surprise, even as he glowered at Wilson when the man tried to make pleasant opening conversation.

_She belongs to me._  He was instantly ashamed at the archaic, possessive thought that coalesced in his brain, causing tension to slide down his arms, through his chest. He struggled to pay attention to what the doctor was saying.  _Beverly most certainly doesn't need an owner_. He was mortified that the thought even existed in his mind, but this was why his previous relationships never worked. He was either distantly removed or truly, utterly possessive.

_Merde._

But the fact remained that in this particular moment, he did not care for Wilson. At all. Because Wilson touched his Beverly. He felt himself glower through the perfunctory exam and was highly aware of Beverly's underlying tension as she stood beside him in the middle of the bustling Sickbay. As soon as they were finished (and after Wilson had made some throwaway comment about Beverly wearing his lab coat), Picard left Sickbay quickly, not proud of himself. He heard Beverly walking rapidly behind him and the moment the doors of the lift shut he turned to her, ready for whatever she was prepared to throw at him. But instead she turned to him, crossed her arms, and waited.

He met her steely gaze, and before he knew it, words began slipping out. Not the apology he felt he should give her, not placating words, but the absolute truth about how he felt. "He had no business touching you." His voice sounded flat, menacing, even to his own ears.

She blinked at him, the slow blink that meant she was both furious and thinking furiously, then she replied. "I'm sorry?" she asked quietly. Her brow arched, the only movement on her otherwise still body.

"He touched you. On your arm," and he nodded down towards her arm. Then the lift opened and he thankfully walked out, not stopping to see if she reacted, quite aware that he was escaping, leaving her to follow, which was truly silly because she was the one leading the talks. And York was waiting for them in the transporter room, bringing a sigh of guilty relief to Picard. For the moment, the conversation was over. But it would return, and he needed to face the fear that had been simmering since Sickbay.

Maybe he didn't have the ability to be rational when it came to loving Beverly.

York greeted the pair with a smile, gaze flicking between the two of them, and Picard was  _sure_  that the captain could see the tension between he and Beverly. But she covered her inquisitive look with a welcoming smile. "Ready?"

The pair stepped onto the platform and beamed down to the Trium planet, into a simple room outfitted with a square table and four chairs, two on each side. Two Trium negotiators turned from the window and approached. They were tall, willowy. The beings had violet-grey skin and dark, dark eyes. Their hands ended in black talons that looked elegant – and held the potential for deadly force.

Picard had not seen anything like them before, but Beverly stepped forward slightly and nodded her head in a welcome greeting. The shorter Trium spoke first. "Doctor and Captain. Welcome to our planet. We anticipate fruitful conversations in the coming days, and are pleased that you have arrived as a pair. We value paired units in our community and view your arrival as a sign of fruitfulness and potential success." The being clicked his/her talons together and gestured to the table.

Following Beverly's lead, he walked to one side of the table and sat beside her. Without any additional greetings, the negotiations began. Distantly, Picard was reminded once again how well he and Beverly worked together.

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

_Trigger warning: insinuated violation/rape/violence in this chapter._

* * *

Hours into the negotiations, the attack came, surprising both the humans and the Trium. The doors opened unexpectedly and phaser rifle fire coursed through the room, almost immediately incapacitating the two Trium negotiators. Spattered in grey-blue fluids, Picard threw himself over Beverly, trying to protect her from the shots, when a beam seared across his right shoulder. He fell to the ground in agony, and then a vicious kick from an invading Trium shoved him to the side of the room. He watched helplessly as another two grabbed Beverly, hauling her up onto her feet as she scrabbled to hold on to something, anything, to avoid being taken. One pressed what looked to be a hypo against her neck, she went limp, and they transported her away in a green shimmer, leaving him alone amid the bodies of the Trium negotiators, retching, lying on his side on the cold stone floor beside the overturned table.

* * *

She sat in a chair, wrists bound in a metal device that administered a shock when she struggled or moved more than necessary. The room was empty save a metallic bed and a cabinet against the wall. She tried not to think about what could be in the cabinet. She estimated she had been in here alone for nearly an hour. She had returned to consciousness already bound; there was no way to tell how long she had been unaware of her surroundings.

The door slid open and four Trium entered. They were unfamiliar, but they wore white robes – no, medical smocks. She swallowed, tried to maintain an impassive expression on her face. Medical smocks were  _not_ a good sign. She wasn't afraid of dying, but she wasn't too keen on speeding up the process, or on getting there in a creative way, orchestrated by four unknown Trium.

The shortest Trium came and knelt down beside her so that they were nearly eye level with each other. _Female_ , Beverly thought.

"We need what is in your mind." Her voice was a sibilant hiss; Crusher couldn't tell if it was intended to be alarming or simply the creature's natural register. In any case, she remained silent.

Another quiet hiss, then, "You wrote this." It was a statement, not a question, and the text from her Kes Prytt report appeared in the air in front of her.  _Oh no._

"I did," she quietly replied. No sense in lying at this point. Better to see what they wanted from her.

"We need you to show us how to use this information to create a weapon." The creature's voice was surprisingly soft, coaxing. And there was a flicker of  _something_  in Crusher's mind. She stiffened.

 _Show us how to use your research for our own needs._  The voice was inside her mind. And it was like the Trium's talon was inside her mind, too, peeling away her meager little defenses, digging, stabbing, and it wasn't graceful at all, it was intrusive, and the edge of pain, like a scrape that was almost a stab and Beverly lost the ability to breathe because it was so foreign, like a smell that had no parallel in her experience or a color that was more of a  _texture_  than a shade-

And then it turned into a sliding stab that caused her body to stiffen in the chair, and the cuffs on her wrists shocked her in protest but she barely noticed because she needed this creature out out out out of her mind out no no no no horrifying no-

\- her mind translated the violation into a physical sensation, being touched,  _penetrated_ , and the invading force picked up on that and it was as though the talons were cupping her intimately-

The Trium sat back, disengaged, rocked back on her heels and watched impassively as Crusher attempted to suck in a breath and avoid vomiting the contents of her stomach all over herself. She vaguely wondered if this was what a Borg invasion felt like, and she felt utterly hopeless.

"Please don't," she whispered, because she had to say something,  _anything,_  even though she knew it wouldn't matter. But as one entity the three other Trium moved forward, lifted her from the chair and swiftly laid her on the metal bed. They didn't restrain her and Crusher thought for a moment about trying to run but before she could run they all pressed their palms against her, on her arms and legs, holding her down, and the female leaned over and pressed both palms against her face, looking down at her.

"Show me how to create a biological weapon."

"Please don't," Crusher repeated in a whisper.

"Show me," and there was a cool stroke against her mind, almost a lovingly sexual caress. Then the cool stroke turned into an icy hot stab that turned into four stabs that were scooping into her mind like it was sand, the talons seeking knowledge, sifting for the information they needed and she felt her identity being pushed away, losing what it meant to have a mind of her own and the ability to direct her own thoughts, and distantly Crusher began to hope for death so that the violation, the pain would end before she fragmented into a million pieces.

* * *

Picard stood in a conference room on the medical deck, listening to York give direction to the security teams. "She has to be on the planet somewhere. They don't have the technology to transport her off planet. Find the dead spots and invade. As soon as you find her, we're leaving. There's more to this negotiation than what's on the surface, and there has to be a reason why they took her and not Picard. Dismissed."

The security officers left and Picard faced York with a slight wince. Wilson had repaired the burn on his shoulder, but the skin and muscles were still tender. But what was worse was the horror he felt - Beverly was gone. The Trium had taken her.

"We'll find her." York's voice broke through his deliberations. He nodded slowly.

"And we'll figure out why they wanted her."

 


	12. Chapter 12

Her mind was a jumble of organic chemistry, biological weaknesses, an overlay of the humanoid brain, and creative methods of dissolving brain matter. It was impossible to obscure her knowledge when someone/something was aware of her every thought. The Trium pushed and prodded her mind so that against her will she crafted the perfect biological weapon, capable of decimating entire populations in a matter of days.

Distantly, amid her grief at how her skills and knowledge were being ripped from her mind, she realized that the pressure had lessened. She still wasn't  _alone_ , but there were fewer presences, and no one was directing her thoughts. Just one presence, now, in her mind - the female.  _The doctor._  Crusher opened her eyes to see the dark, glassy eyes looking down at her, bright lights behind her head, illuminating the glossy skin. She couldn't escape if she tried - the Trium had immobilized her so that she couldn't even scream, and her body refused to move. The creature was in her mind, just  _waiting_.

Waiting for what?

_This_.

And the Trium tasted her. It was  _different_ , though, than the previous pressure - it was a leisurely caress with no goal, not searching for information about chemical bonds or viral strains. Just profoundly uncomfortable pressure, rubbing against her mind.

_Your taste is pleasing to me._

Beverly realized slowly and with mounting horror that this Trium - this  _doctor,_ such a perversion of the  _meaning_  of doctor- was  _enjoying_  the taste of her mind.

_Not quite. I most enjoy the taste of your pain._

And Beverly's mind exploded in a white hot starburst of agony.

* * *

Picard was still in the conference room, wishing he could be on the surface of the slowly rotating planet below but knowing he would just be a hindrance, barely mobile as he currently was. Then the ship snapped to warp, and the view shifted to a streaking starfield. His comm badge chimed.

"York to Picard. We've got her. She's in Sickbay, and we're heading to Earth."

* * *

She realized that she was screaming in her mind, but the Trium matriarch (her mind helpfully supplied that the Trium used a matriarchal system) kept looking down at her with what had to be a smile? Like how a being would look down at a well-loved pet. It was so disconnected from the agony she was inflicting; Beverly wished that her mind had truly fragmented, but it was fully present in the pain, in the pleasure that the Trium was taking from her every mental twitch and attempt to escape the relentless onslaught, pressure, invasion. The creature sighed happily, her hot breath on Beverly's face, when the Trium suddenly mentally withdrew.

Beverly was alone in her own mind.  _Alone_. It was exquisite, but entirely too sudden. Was this a trick? A tactic to lull her defenses? She watched the Trium frown at a display that had appeared in the air, covered in writing of some sort, then the being made a guttural sound and stepped away from the table-

-a familiar sensation engulfed her, one of a transporter beam-

-and Beverly was looking at the ceiling of a standard Federation Sickbay. The shift was overwhelming, and as she blinked she realized that someone new was her mind.

* * *

Picard entered Sickbay in a sprint and saw Crusher immediately, lying on a bed in the center of the treatment bay, surrounded by Wilson and two other doctors. The medical crew were exchanging short, tense commands and using an array of medical tools on her. She was lying there motionless, staring up at the ceiling, still covered in grey blood spatter. As Picard reached the bed, Wilson glanced up and stepped aside, continuing to work, so that Picard could step closer and see her. She was pale, so pale, skin translucent, her uniform soaked through with sweat, crusted blood at the corners of her mouth. Her stare upwards was disturbingly vacant.

Tentatively he reached out his fingers and touched the back of her hand that was resting on the bed, reassuring himself that she was really there in front of him.

Her eyes widened and snapped to the side to meet his, and her back arched and she sucked in a ragged breath, then screamed wordlessly, and he had  _never_  heard her scream before,  _ever_ , but it sounded like she had been screaming a long while because her voice was splintered, fractured, and every single doctor and nurse sprang into frantic action. She was pushing herself off the bed, and he was frozen in shock as she jerked her hand away from him, staring up at him in terror, scrabbling, trying to get away and down off of the bed-

-his mind was overwhelmed by her shriek -  _get out get out get out of my mind_  - and then it was like a lance, a stab, a fiery shard that made him involuntarily stumble back, and all he wanted was to get  _away_ , flee to safety, because there was the memory of a face looking down at him, and there were lights in the background and he remembered the lights and the Gul and he couldn't tell how many lights there were but he would do anything to make the pain stop-

He realized that he was on his knees on the floor of Sickbay, clutching his head, and the pain had just slid away, leaving him breathless, gasping, and the memory of lights and agony had been too much, too horrifying to revisit.

He looked up and saw her limp body on the bed with her arm hanging off haphazardly; she was obviously unconscious, and all three doctors were gripping hypos, and heaving in breaths, and one knelt down beside him, looking in his eyes, flipping open a tricorder, as Wilson was focused on scanning Beverly's limp body. It was like seeing her through a haze, because he  _should_  feel something at the sight of her motionless body up there on the bed but his mind was a jumble and he was just so thankful that his mind was no longer being invaded and that the lights (it has been so long since he had remembered them so vividly) were just a memory.

Picard sucked in a breath, then another, now shaky and limp, kneeling there on the floor of Sickbay, feeling the adrenaline course through him, a rising sensation of nausea developing, as the doctor in front of him watched him intently as she scanned him.

"What just happened?" he croaked, feeling as if there were shards slicing into his throat, his vocal cords.

The doctor flicked her eyes down on the tricorder's display, then back up and met his. "I have no idea, sir."


	13. Chapter 13

She was staring up at a ceiling, and there were several doctors examining her, carefully, quickly, quietly. She was not alone in her mind, but it didn't hurt, it was just another presence, and it was familiar somehow. Or was that just because she had gotten used to the feel of the Trium in her mind? Distantly she realized that it would be at this point that she should let out a manic giggle of joy at the fact that there was only one other presence in her mind.

She felt disconnected from her body, not sure how much time had passed, sensing inward, seeing if she was fractured, broken, or just mentally sore, and what exactly had the Truim taken from her? It was all so hazy, and she needed to organize her thoughts and tell these doctors, warn them about something-

\- the tentative touch on her hand brought an overwhelmingly white-hot burst of noise in her mind, and she was snapped to the present, sucking in a breath, trying to pull her hand away, looking up and meeting Jean-Luc's frozen, horrified gaze-

\- she realized that  _he_ was in her mind, but it was oppressive and excruciating, like fire licking sensitized nerve endings, it wasn't like Kes Prytt, no not at all, that had been uncomfortable but manageable, and the terror she had displaced while immobilized by the Trium rushed back, and she couldn't do this again. Instinct took over, and she fought to get up, get away and off of this bed, catching the look of horror on his face but she needed him out of her mind

\- a flash of pain and terror coming from him overwhelmed her even more. His mind was not nearly as orderly, as focused, as directed as the Trium mind, and it drew out her memories, and the image of the Trium face peering down at her brought up a horrifying image of four lights - or were there five? - and a Cardassian face but oh god she needed to get away

\- hands on her body pressing her down again but she couldn't do this again she'd rather die

\- cold on her neck and darkness pulled her under

* * *

As the doctor continued to scan him, other medical crew had abruptly dragged him to his feet and over to the other side of Sickbay, dumping him unceremoniously on a bed, holding him down as they began an array of tests. Images were suspended above him, quickly shifting readouts and symbols, but he strained to look through them and over at Beverly's limp body across the room.

He had  _felt_ her mind. And she had been  _terrified_. Just the memory made him tense up in remembered horror.

A man was looking at him, calling for his attention. Picard dragged his gaze up to the man's face. It had to be the ship's counselor, according to the odd uniform with the pips. "How are you feeling?" the man asked cautiously. But before Picard could speak, Wilson appeared at the man's side, raising a padd.

"You two were the Kes Prytt patents, weren't you?" Wilson demanded, intensely looking down at him. Picard looked up at him in shock.

"Yes. How did you-"

"We have her reports, and her current scans align with the report's data. Except that her brain matter has expanded since then. She's wide open to telepathic connections. The Trium must have done something to her, and early reports show that  _your_ brain is responding to her increased capacity. What did she tell you just now?"

Picard was frozen, unable to answer. Too many questions, and his mind was still sore, for lack of a better term.

"What did she say?! You need to tell us  _immediately_." Wilson frantically demanded again, ignoring the pointed look from the counselor. "We need to know. The Trium took  _her_  and not  _you_  for a reason - it has to be medically related. What did she say about her abduction?"

Picard shook off the nurse trying to fit some sort of device onto his head, raising himself up on his elbows, feeling very undignified as he tried to get up. He did not want to be interrogated while lying on a biobed. "She didn't say  _anything_  - all I saw were memories of a Trium staring down at her, and there were lights-" he cut himself off, stomach roiling, because the flash of memory from her mind had triggered memories from his abduction, things he did  _not_ want to think about, and had she caused that to happen deliberately?

"Captain." The counselor was touching his chin, pulling his gaze up again, bringing him back to the present. And he realized that he could still feel her? He felt something. And it was like Kes Prytt, when she was asleep by the fire and he could feel her mind at rest. He struggled to focus on the counselor, because all he wanted to do was follow her mind down, down and rest with it, with her-

"Captain! You need to focus. She didn't tell you anything?"

He sucked in a breath, focusing on grounding himself. "No. Nothing."

Wilson's shoulders dropped. "Damn it. We need to bring her back up, and you need to find out what they did to her and why they wanted her."


	14. Chapter 14

Picard felt out of place in the operating room, but he refused to step back from her biobed. Standing next to him were five doctors, two nurses and the ship's counselor. Captain York was over by the wall, arms crossed, face blank as she watched the assembled crew. Picard tried to ignore the alarming equipment around the perimeter of the room; the operating room was the only place in Sickbay with enough space to hold so many medical crew. He once again looked down at Beverly's unconscious form, memorizing her face. Her skin was nearly translucent, dark smudges underneath her closed eyes, and several dark splatters of Trium blood were dotting her face and neck. She was dressed in a dark medical gown, and he wondered who had undressed her, what they had done with her blood-stained uniform, who had touched her.

"Captain." Picard glanced up and met Wilson's anxious eyes across the bed. "Sir, we're going to bring her out of sedation."

The doctor swallowed, then continued, visibly nervous, which told Picard that the situation was not nearly under control yet. "We've healed as much of the physical damage as we could." Picard looked down at her wrists, and yes, the bruises from what he presumed had been restraints? They were gone. He heard Wilson continue.

"She may panic, she may be afraid, she may lash out, and it may hurt you. But we need you to keep her awake so that she can tell us about why the Trium wanted her. If there is a medical crisis for the Federation, we need to know as soon as possible. Are you ready, sir?"

Picard nodded, not trusting his voice to be steady, and even wishing that he could be the one to bring her out of sedation, rather than Wilson. Distantly he worried that the closer he was when she awoke, the more it may scare her. He didn't want to scare her. He most certainly wouldn't ever touch her again, if it caused her pain, and he roughly pushed that thought away. He couldn't think about their future right now. He needed to know that she would be well, healed, sane, first.

A nurse across the bed tapped a screen suspended over Beverly's body, and immediately he felt a murmur in his mind. She was coming out of sedation.

"Can you sense her yet?" Wilson asked cautiously, and Picard ignored him, highly irritated at the man's impatience.

_Jean-Luc?_  Fear and tension filtered through the connection, taking his breath away and forcing him to clench his fists, because he wanted to place his hands on her, gather her up and comfort her, but then he felt the full snap of her awareness as the sedation wore off. As he watched her face, her eyes opened, she stared directly upwards, then she turned her head slightly, with a wince, and met his gaze.

_I'm so sorry I hurt you,_ she said, and his breath hitched at the regret, the apology that rose up from within her, her blue eyes searching his for an apology.

_Please don't touch me yet._ That statement was softer, tinged with sadness. She opened her mouth and croaked, swallowed, tried again, and this time words came out, and he knew that they were intended for the assembled doctors.

"They're crafting a plague to kill us all."

* * *

_Awake_

_I remember the oppressive fear, terror, the horror_

_Someone else is with me, in my mind_

_But I can move_

_and I don't hurt as much_

_and I'm not trapped anymore_

_and the presence is – I can handle him, now_

_Jean-Luc?_

She opened her eyes and saw the Sickbay ceiling again. She turned her head slightly to the side and saw him, with his worry-creased brow and the tension around his mouth, the tightness of his jawline. She sensed his apprehension, his fear, his care for her, and also his fortitude. He was prepared for an onslaught of agony from her, if need be.

_I'm so sorry I hurt you._

A warm blossom of surprise, then peace, apology. He was all right. He just wanted her to be well, whole, and the desire to comfort radiated from him so strongly…

_Please don't touch me yet,_  she sent to him. The last time she was awake, the connection was unbearable when he touched her, and she couldn't risk that again, not before she told the medical crew what she knew. She swallowed, spoke out loud.

"They're crafting a plague to kill us all."

And her breath hitched when she sensed the deep well of grief coming from him. It was his reaction to hearing her ragged, shattered voice.

* * *

He listened to her broken voice as she began to explain the situation to the gathered group. Her normal timbre had been ruined, and she was raspy. She immediately started describing chemical bonds and neurological pathways, and a nurse reconfigured the screen above her body to reflect her research. He stepped back as she struggled to sit up, because his hands itched to touch her, help her up, but he could not touch her.

He watched as a nurse handed her a padd even as several doctors helped her get to a sitting position on the bed. Her mind was cool, collected, and he wondered if it was always this way or if she was using her research to focus and shut him out.

Her exhaustion was overwhelming, but she spoke quickly, directly for several minutes, the doctors creating models in the air, taking notes, expanding her explanation. Finally, she sighed, leaning back on the tilted biobed, looking up at the slowly rotating models.

_Could you please leave, Jean-Luc?_

He blinked. Was she asking him to leave her alone? For good?

_Just for a few minutes. I need to speak to the counselor._  An undercurrent of anxiety rose up from her.


	15. Chapter 15

York followed him as he left the operating room purposefully, following the doctors who dispersed in every direction, talking intensely amongst themselves. As he walked out the door, his focus seemed to falter, though. She observed him and wondered how proximity affected Picard and Crusher’s mental communication. It was obvious that they were speaking to each other mentally in Sickbay. York had spent time with telepathic races on her previous command, and the crew members had obviously been socialized to be discreet when they were holding non-verbal conversations. But Picard was surprisingly easy to read when it came to his care for the doctor. Doctor Crusher was harder to read, though. 

York followed Picard out the door, into the corridor, then caught up with him. "A moment of your time?” she called out, and he turned and stopped, waiting for her. She nodded and they went around the bend for additional privacy, then she simply told him straight out: "Starfleet contacted me, asking when you’ll be going to the Enterprise."

She watched as he froze, an utterly astonished expression on his face. It was evident that the Enterprise had been the farthest thing from his mind, and again she wondered about the history between him and Crusher. He was consumed with her and her well-being. 

With a sigh, she continued. He needed to know the entire situation. "I can delay my answer for a few hours. I told them that you were still recovering from the attack. You can contact them directly. If you would like a shuttle craft I'm happy to offer you one, or you are welcome to remain on this ship for as long as you like."

He nodded in response, still silent, but there was a glimmer of appreciation in his eyes. He understood what she was offering - both a delay in responding that could have serious repercussions for her down the line, or the gift of a shuttle that she couldn’t really afford to lose, seeing as she had a smaller vessel with a limited shuttle contingent.

She smiled softly at him, aware of his discomfort, seeing how he needed some time to think, thankful that the corridor was deserted. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to have to ask you. But I wanted to give you some advance warning, because the Federation is going to contact you soon with their wishes. I'll leave you to go get some rest." And she patted him on the arm, nodded and walked away, leaving him speechless in the corridor. 

As she left him alone in the corridor, she smiled sadly. It was obvious that he loved Doctor Crusher.

* * *

He wasn't thinking clearly at all, even with the silence in his mind, and he stepped into the darkened quarters and saw the few remnants of their short time together: abandoned coffee mug on the table, black dress hanging up against the wall, the holo sitting on the shelf. The accoutrements were sparse, but already the quarters felt like a shared home. He sat slowly at the table, looking at her mug, then rubbed his head. He needed to make a decision or figure out a way to delay the Federation’s orders.

Without warning, he found himself thinking back to the other universe. Sophie, sitting across the table, bright blue eyes and red hair just like her mother, even down to that little crease between her brows that revealed how worried she was. The young woman had a soft but strong voice as she met his gaze. "Mom will come back as soon as she can. I miss her. Papa misses her, too. Terribly. I've…well. I've never seen him like this."

He remembered the other Picard. How that man seemed happy but brittle. And the look on the man's face when Beverly had stepped out of the shuttle. Raw. Unguarded. Needy. He wasn't leaving Beverly. He doubted she was even cleared to leave the ship in her condition. And if she wanted to go to the Enterprise, then they'd talk first. And figure out if this mental connection was permanent. But if they served with each other, what would happen with the next crisis? Would they pull apart, in fear of losing each other? Would she confide in someone else? Like the counselor? Would they simply go back to being friends, because it was so much easier?

He didn't need the Enterprise anymore. It was in capable hands with the first officer. He needed to be with Beverly. Fully. He had spent a lifetime on the edge of her life, skirting around her, afraid of being pushed away, never fully committing. He wasn't going to leave her this time, and he wasn't going to let outside circumstances separate them ever again. 

* * *

The counselor seemed pleasant, if tense. And Crusher was fine with that. Perhaps his tension was because she was a senior officer? Or because he didn’t have a protocol for treating patients with newly formed mental connections? Or because she probably looked half-dead, with hollow, haunted eyes? No matter. Her goal was to get out of Sickbay as soon as possible, so she was going to follow every single damn release protocol until they let her go. She needed a shower, and privacy, and silence. And to see how this connection with Jean-Luc was going to affect their relationship. She had no idea whether the connection could be severed, although it was obviously based upon proximity, because his mind had faded as he left Sickbay. But she couldn’t think about him now. Not yet.

"How are you doing?" The counselor's quiet words brought her out of her musings. 

"Well, I'm happy to be back on a Federation ship. And I'm glad that the Trium are no longer in my mind."

"Go on.” 

And she took a deep breath and then began describing what it was like to be violated from the inside of her mind. Hopefully, if she told the counselor everything up front, he would let her leave Sickbay. And she wanted to tell him before Jean-Luc returned. She didn't want to subject Jean-Luc to her horror. 

 


	16. Chapter 16

"I'm  _fine_ ," she insisted once again, feeling somewhat diminished as she sat on the biobed, York, Wilson and the counselor observing her every word. "Well, I'm not  _fine,_  but I'm well enough to be released." She watched Wilson carefully, so angry that this man was in the position of deciding when she exactly she could leave this damn Sickbay. She felt so isolated, separate from the Renegade crew, and yet all she wanted was to be  _alone_.

"We need to see how you're going to react when you touch Picard," he responded again, not looking over at her but instead tapping at the display in the air, as if she couldn't read the charts in reverse and see that her vitals were stable. The counselor stood silently beside him, hard to read, and York stood to the side, arms crossed behind her back, observing, not giving away anything about what she was thinking.

She huffed out a breath. "He's on his way here now. We can try it, you can monitor us, and he and I can leave." She turned and looked at the door, ignoring Wilson's surprised gaze, knowing Jean-Luc would enter in a moment, not caring what the Renegade's officers thought of her. She was sick of all of them and just wanted to not be trapped in Sickbay - oh. Jean-Luc was close.

He was very resolute about  _something_ , as though he had made a decision and nothing would change his mind. Flashes of images slid across her consciousness, but nothing that resolved into a clear scene. All she knew was that he was thinking about  _her_.

He entered the examination alcove and they locked eyes and he walked towards her as if there was no one else in the small room. He looked very resolute, very firm, but he wasn't giving away much more from his body language, or his mind. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him approach, and he stepped forward until his body was a mere centimeter from her knees. It was a strangely intimate pose, so close to her even as the Renegade crew were watching him and her. She had the fully unexpected urge to spread her legs so that he could step even closer, but the very thought made her blush because this was a very public space, and because he could probably sense her racing thoughts.

And he held out his hand, palm up, and waited.

* * *

Could Beverly sense his thoughts? Did she know about the decision he had made? Was his mind calm and collected to her, or swirling and overwhelming to her oversensitive brain? He didn't know, but her face was intent, focused on him, even though she looked just gaunt and exhausted, even with a hint of a blush rising up her cheeks. She looked even worse than before, if that was possible, even though she was upright now, and again he just wanted to take care of her.

As she watched him approach, he sensed her spike of anxiety, a flurry of swirling thoughts, and then a narrowing focus on him, pushing aside all other feelings. She had a hint of deep awareness at his proximity as he stopped in front of her. And a quick suppression of a glimmer of…the desire to be touched?  _Ah, interesting._

He held out his hand, palm up, as if to help her down from the bed (he felt her restlessness; she did  _not_  want to be here anymore and was using him as some sort of anchor) and she kept holding his gaze as she slowly reached out and her fingers hovered over his palm.

* * *

She held her breath, tried to relax even as the heat from his hand radiated up to her hand. She hesitated for a few seconds as she hovered her fingers over his palm, then held her breath and placed her hand down against his.

It was fine. She was fine.

Well, no, not  _fine_ , because she could hear him even  _more_  clearly once they were touching, but he was keeping himself so very still, guarded, with boundaries like walls, and his mind was somehow distant. It didn't hurt her anymore.

Yes. They could do this. It wasn't the odd closeness of Kes Prytt, but it certainly wasn't the agony from earlier. And she was  _fine_. She smiled at him, and the bloom of warmth within him reflected her own relief. She spoke to Wilson, still looking at Picard.

"I'd like to be released, now," she quietly stated. She heard Wilson sigh, quite oddly.  _Is he surprised that I don't want to stay here? I've been telling him for an hour that I've wanted to leave-_

_Let him watch us._

Her eyes widened in surprise at the blatant, satisfied words from Jean-Luc, wrapped in a hint of smug satisfaction, but he had raised his walls again, and no more words slipped out into her mind. Had she imagined his thought?

Wilson resignedly tapped on a suspended screen and all the medical charts disappeared. "Come back in twelve hours. Go get some rest." He raised a hand, tapped another screen, and she felt the intership transporter capture her, pulling her away from Sickbay. She materialized a second later in their personal quarters, alone, the darkness broken only by the streaks of stars outside the window.

* * *

She didn't really remember taking off her clothes and getting into the shower. Her tears were hot trails down her cheeks, so much hotter than the hot water pouring down on her in an almost punishing spray. But her thoughts had calmed and become more linear, more manageable once she had enveloped herself in the shower, even as steady tears continued to slide down her face.

She leaned against the wet wall of the shower, inhaling the humid air. She was safe now. But the trauma of the past hours (days? How long had it been?) was still there in her soul.

She wondered where Jean-Luc was.


	17. Chapter 17

Beverly wanted to crawl into a bed and sleep, but she could tell that he was out in the main living area, waiting for her. As she entered the room, she felt his appreciation of her lavender sleepwear, quickly muted to almost nothing. All that remained was a thread of care towards her and a carefully neutral look on his face. And a memory that slipped his cracks?  _An image of Wilson and York speaking, explaining the next steps to him with apologetic voices_. Oh - she wasn't going to be leaving the Renegade. The research team was going to need her, use her as a living sample.  _She didn't have a say in the matter,_  they were apologetically explaining, and Wilson seemed almost smugly satisfied about that?

With a blink, she came back to herself. She didn't even know where the Renegade was taking her. Was York taking the ship back to its original mission? Or headed to Earth, to Medical for more testing?

She was confined. It was like being held down on that bed all over again, unable to get up and leave, unable to control what was happening to her. And the fact that she hadn't thought about what would actually happen after she made it back to private quarters made it starkly evident that she was still not whole, not well.

She glanced up and saw Jean-Luc standing directly in front of her ( _he must have moved? I didn't see him get up, I'm losing time, I'm not functional_ ). She felt his mental presence and was thankful for him, but after just a moment she…wait. He was there, but  _barely_ , watching her impassively. Whatever mental barriers he had created made him seem distant and detached. While she was standing in front of him, broken and raw and barely functional, he was watching her with a cool gaze, like an acquaintance, not like the man who had professed love in the shuttle days earlier, who had held out his hand for her in the middle of Sickbay, who had had a flash of satisfaction when Wilson was watching them touch-

She leaned back, then took a full step away from him, needing more space, because his smell was distracting, which was so odd and so unexpected after the events of the past hours? Days? Hell, she had no idea when she had last been in these darkened, silent quarters, but damned if he wasn't hiding behind a mental barrier while she was raw and open and violated and this was too much, it was utterly unbalanced, and they had shared a bed, and now he was acting as though she was simply a distant friend-

"You're so distant," It came out in a flat whisper, and she could sense how grating the sound of her rasping voice was to him. But she couldn't stop. "I didn't ask for this mental connection, and I'm sorry if my presence causes you pain, and I'm not asking anything from you, but you're so  _distant_. Either be present for me, next to me, or leave me alone so that I can go put myself back together. I don't need you if you're going to be like this." She tasted ashes on her tongue as she finished speaking, and she realized that she needed to lay down or she was going to collapse.

* * *

He was working so hard to keep his mind shielded from her, building imaginary walls that would keep his roiling emotions from her, protecting her from his need to be with her, but the look of hollow horror on her face took his breath away.

"I don't need you if you're going to be like this," she rasped and her words sliced him open. This was wrong, all wrong, she thought he didn't care about her? No, quite the opposite, he was a fool, hiding the depth of his emotions from her. But as he watched, she swayed almost imperceptibly, eyes drifting and peering somewhere over his shoulder.

"Beverly, are you all right?" Taking a step forward, he gripped her arms just as she shut her eyes and slowly began to crumble, falling to her knees, projecting an odd, unsettling silence. His hands slid down her arms, up to her neck to carefully cup her face. "Open your eyes, damn it – are you all right? Do I need to get you back to Sickbay?"

"No." Her voice was a whisper, and she finally opened her eyes. "I'm all right."

"You're not all right. What's going on?" Without thinking, he mentally reached out and caressed her mind – and he was buffeted with overwhelming sensations that took the form of anguished words _– Just go, just leave, if I'm hurting you then go away but don't stay with me out of an obligation-_

Without thinking, he knelt down and picked her up, cradled her body against his chest and carried her into the bedroom, laid her down on the bed. He watched her face as it crumpled slightly, and she breathed a sigh of relief.  _Thank you-_

_-You're welcome_. Pulled the covers over her and made sure she was comfortable. Sat on the side of the bed and gazed down at her, afraid to touch her again for fear of causing her more pain. He whispered down to her. "I do love you. Deeply. But we don't need to discuss this now. You're exhausted – I can feel it-"

"No, we  _do_  need to discuss this now, because I am in your bed and because you can hear my thoughts, that's why." She pushed herself up on her elbows just as he bent down intently to look at her face, and they ended up mere inches from each other. Beverly held her breath and stared at him intently. He could feel sense her pain and realized it was both physical and emotional, and saw the depths of her blue, blue eyes – they looked tired but still lovely, always lovely, and her red hair fell in tumbles around her face and onto her shoulders. He felt fear and anger and tension all around her mind as she spoke.

"I'm sorry I hurt you earlier. But now you're so  _distant_. If you don't want to be around me-" and a stinging blossom of  _shame, embarrassment at opening herself up to him, grief, turning away_  pressed against his mind "-then just leave me be, so that I can heal. And I won't bother you with my presence again."


	18. Chapter 18

She felt her muscles protesting, begging really, for rest and for blissful sleep, but she held his gaze, let him feel her shock at his raw admission.

And she was buffeted with  _a wave of longing, love, the longing of a young man and she saw the image of her at her wedding to Jack and saw herself through his eyes and his happiness for her and her love for Jack and yet a deep seated sadness that she looked at Jack with that expression on her face – not him. A flash of memory as he held Wesley for the first time, within an hour of his birth, looking at the tiny baby in his arms and feeling a rush of love and also sadness that he couldn't give her a child because she belonged to Jack and he loved Beverly and he loved Jack as well and even with the ache in his heart he just wanted them to be happy –_

_\- and the thoughts of a young man were replaced with more recent scenes from the Enterprise – a tall Beverly standing in the middle of Sickbay in her smock, talking to a patient, Beverly standing in the conference room by the window, explaining something to the crew, him sitting in a shuttle with Wesley and remembering Wesley say 'you'd be a good father' and wishing that Wesley was his son and Beverly his wife, Beverly in Sickbay, carefully and methodically slicing off the Borg implants and repairing his skin inch by inch while pausing every few moments and gently wiping away his tears, him smiling at something Vash said over dinner and thinking that this dark haired woman was lovely but his heart belonged to another, the Gul and how when the Gul said they had the human female, he refused to leave that torture chamber if it meant she was safe, Eline and her smile and how at certain moments, even after all these years, she reminded him of Beverly, his suppressed desperation on the shuttle, realizing that she wasn't fully ready for this, for them, but he was willing to give her anything, anything, as long as she would be happy and they could be together-_

"Beverly. " She was wrenched back to the present day, disoriented at the wild string of memories with her as the common thread. His voice was thick and full of tears as he carefully held himself centimeters from her face. "Yes, I've loved you for too long. Yes, I've been a coward for many years. Yes, I kept you at arms' length for far too long, and we played this game, circling around each other. But I also know this," – and he leaned down even closer to her, his breath hot on her face- "I love you, I am in love with you, and I am willing to follow you wherever you want to go. Know that, Beverly. We are partners in work and in love."

Her arms ached from holding herself up in such an awkward position but she refused to move first. She remembered to take a breath and sucked in a gulp of cold air into her sore lungs, while he remained motionless above her face and she could feel his warm breath against her face and  _a gentle current of anxiety, fear…and love. Care for her that felt like an equivalent of a warm embrace that showed no sign of ending._

Her right arm spasmed and she cursed under her breath, gave in and fell heavily on the pillow beneath her, but held his gaze. Noted the tension around his bright eyes, felt the undercurrent of  _fear and loss_  from him, all held under iron control because he didn't want to push too hard for fear of losing her…

He swallowed, then spoke. "Beverly, I love you. If you don't love me in the same way I understand and I will not bother you again with…this. But if there is any love – any  _chance_  of love – any chance of  _us?"_  And with that statement came  _a stab of love that smelled like cinnamon and the sensation of his hands holding hers to his mouth as he pressed a long kiss against her palms, cherishing her touch –_ "-then please let me love you and let us try this between us. We've been together as friends, partners, for so long – let's try."

* * *

He could feel her going over his words in her mind, sifting through the emotions he had just recklessly pushed towards her. And then it felt as though she were opening her mind and with a shift, she deliberately lowered her barrier. She didn't send him her thoughts, her emotions, save one:  _Come in._

His eyes widened at her invitation and he saw _– the memory of Jean-Luc and Jack laughing together on the couch as she peered through the doorway and appreciated the view of both men, her love for Odan, the movement from host to host and the grief she felt at knowing she couldn't be fully present with him and love him, the hunger to be a doctor, the grief at losing patients, the happiness at watching Miles and Keiko get married and wondering if she'd ever want to be with someone enough to want to get married again and if she did decide to get married, it would need to be to someone she knew well and loved deeply, her love for Wesley and worry about him as a Traveler, the muddy, muddy memories of that awful journal and that creature – and the vivid memory of Jean-Luc's heartbroken, hopeless gaze when he stood in the transporter room with her, the surprise that wasn't really surprise once she put all the pieces together that night beside the fire at Kes Prytt, all the times they stood just a little too close to each other in the conference room in full view of the entire bridge staff, walking into her quarters after spending hours removing the Borg implants and sliding down the wall and weeping bitterly for the man she loved and the pain he endured, her realization on the shuttle that he was serious about making this work, so many possibilities for her, for him, for them together, and the realization that they had been in each other's daily lives for years and years already –_

"Jean-Luc." Her murmur brought him back into the moment, and he looked down at her face, tightness around her eyes. She had always held herself carefully back from him, and he could sense how much it cost her to give him such an intimate look at her inner life. And then she lifted a hand, placed it on the back of his neck, and pulled him down and kissed him.

* * *

She needed him to know, know what was in her mind, all of this damn baggage. It wasn't resolved, she had no idea what their relationship now was, but he had shown her how much he wanted to be with her, and she gave him back her jumbled awareness of what had been and where they were now - just, she needed him. His touch, his reassurance, his love. So she pulled his face down to hers and kissed him.

His startled response quickly gave way to a restrained hunger, but he didn't press, simply rested his lips against hers, holding his body carefully away from hers.

_Stop holding back, Jean-Luc._

_You're hurt-_

_I can make my own decisions. Kiss me._


	19. Chapter 19

_I can make my own decisions. Kiss me._

He couldn't stop kissing her if he tried. Her hand on the back of his neck pulled him down more closely and she pressed her lips against his more fully, then opened beneath him. The taste of her was so startling, so  _good_ , he needed more, and she pulled him down with a wave of satisfaction until he fell on top of her, sideways, and he felt the corners of her mouth turn up, a touch of amusement radiating like a quiet laugh.

Still, he held himself back, but every movement she made beneath him, every wave of warmth and affection and pleasure coming from her broke down his barriers until he just…he just  _needed_  her. She had been pulling him closer until he was completely over her, only the covers separating their bodies, and she spread her legs beneath him. He fit perfectly against her and was reminded at how feminine her shape was, this body that he had been so close to over the years, but not like this, no, never like this. Her hands slid down his neck to his shoulders, and she turned her head, pressing her lips against his jaw with a contented sigh that he felt in his mind.

He instantly responded, pressing her down on the bed – but then he drew back, barely touching her, looking down at her face -  _Beverly, your face, I never thought you'd be looking at me like this_  - and she smiled. He pressed his mouth against hers again and his questing hand gripped her hip tentatively, cautiously, until she covered his hand, dragged it up, pulled down the covers below her breasts and pressed his hand against her curves as she arched into his palm. He pulled back again, looked at her with a touch of disbelief that he was holding her so intimately In response, she nodded -  _please, Jean-Luc, touch me_  - leaned up and kissed him and it was as if a dam broke from within him. He pressed her back against the bed, moaned into her mouth at the sensation of her soft curves filling his palm.

* * *

She felt his need, his urgency, wanted to feel him inside, her body was so worn out but she needed this, needed  _him_ , she was so  _tired_  of waiting and his hand holding her felt so right. She pushed him up, still kissing him, struggling to sit up so she could take off her sleep shirt when she felt his palm slide down from her breast, lingering against her stomach. The feel of his hand flexing against her bare skin made her cramp up in anticipation, a twinge forming low within her.

 _You're sure?_ He was carefully asking her as he pulled back, meeting her gaze, hand pressed against her stomach, fingers curling against her side, twitching in his need to pull her closer to him. His eyes were intent, searching her face, and she smiled.

_Yes. The timing is not ideal. But it's never been ideal for us, and I need you. And I need the way you make me feel._

She realized she was telling him so much, revealing so much, but she lost her train of thought as he slid his hand up and somehow she was back against the pillows, her shirt was off, and his hands were on her breasts as he was possessing her mouth, as if he wanted to devour her. Then he was under the covers with her, and she was kicking off her pants while pulling his down, sliding her palms against his stomach, then lower. When she gripped him, hot and firm in her hands, he froze, and his startled pleasure radiated into his mind. She could tell how much he was trying to remain still, not thrust into her hands, because he  _needed her, had wanted her for so long, and suddenly they were here, together-_

She leaned back and looked up at his face in the starlight, pulling his body down and pressing him against her core. He was firm, large, sending a thrill of anticipation through her. Lifting her hips, wordlessly asking him to come inside. And he pulled back and slid into her in one long stroke as she pressed her hands against his back. She winced and gasped softly at the sudden sensation of his thickness and the stretching within, knew she wasn't going to be ready for release any time soon but tilted her hips up anyway, still enjoying the sensation of fullness, forcing herself not to tense up - and he looked down at her in horror at her wince, freezing above her, arms trembling at the effort to stay still. "Beverly, you're…we can't…" And started to pull out, face tense with worry. She felt his horrified concern for her alongside his nearly overwhelming  _need_  for her.

"We can. I'm fine, Jean-Luc. Please. Let me…let me be with you." She slid one hand down to his lower back, pressing him down as she rocked her hips up against his, welcoming the fullness and the weight of his body over hers. He pushed in nearly involuntarily, still holding her gaze, then his eyes fluttered nearly shut, overcome with sensation, and he thrust even more deeply into her. She looked up at him, his clenched jaw, felt his white-hot overwhelming pleasure that was intertwined with painful, desperate need, and she  _reached out_ to him, welcoming him.

"Beverly-" he gasped, then thrust into her with a lift and a curve and she felt him throb, raised her hips to welcome him, pulled his face down and kissed the side of his mouth as he collapsed on her, his release filling her. She laid under him, enjoying the weight of his body, his skin against her breasts, the exhausted, wrung-out relief of his mind.

After a moment, he pulled back, looked down at her, and she saw that his eyes were full of tears. His hand reached out and caressed the side of her face as she nestled into his palm.

"I'm so sorry. I just…just-"

His voice broke as he shifted to lay beside her and gathered her in his arms, buried his face in her hair, and she heard a stifled sob, then a stuttering breath, then silence as she slid her hands across his back. A confused swirl of emotion radiated from his mind:  _radiant, warm love and cold fear at nearly losing her, solid love and need for her, to possess her..._

"Beverly, I've loved you for so long. So long…"

"Shhh. I know. I've loved you forever." She found herself tearing up at the whirlwind pace of the previous minutes, pulled back and kissed him, and the mingled salt of their tears flavored their kiss.  _Beverly, I've wasted so much time…I don't think we could have been together before this moment…but we've wasted so much time…_

She pressed a kiss against the side of his mouth, murmured to him. "We're here now, Jean-Luc, and that's what matters." His quiet sob filled the room and she felt herself draw in a quietly stuttering breath in empathic response.

The two held each other in the moonlight, grieving lost time.


	20. Chapter 20

His grief was familiar, somehow. It was the same tone, the same color as the melancholy that had covered him after especially difficult missions, or the loss of his family, but as she laid in his arms and felt his breathing slow, she pressed a kiss against his shoulder as he buried his face in her hair. To feel his emotions while being immersed in his physical space was good, if consuming. His body relayed his tension, even as she felt his satiation. But a grey-blue tendril of conflict arose from his core.

 _Why are you conflicted, Jean-Luc?_  Did he regret what they had just done? There was silence, as she felt him slowly rebuilding the barriers-

_Please? Tell me?_

A mental sigh, even as his body went very still.  _Did I hurt you?_

She blinked into the darkness.  _No, I wanted you, wanted to feel alive._

Silence, then she felt him smile slightly against her hair, a bubble of amusement arising.  _You used me, then?_

She grinned into his warm skin, pressed a kiss against his shoulder again. He smelled good, familiar, and being so close to him was restful. She was content. Sore, exhausted, worn out, but the horror of the previous days finally seemed somewhat distant. So she let herself fall asleep in his arms.

* * *

She awoke to an empty bed, disorientation and a full bladder. But after a few seconds her memory returned. The memories were heavy, dark, but not overwhelming. Sense memories returned - the sensation of the cold metal table underneath her back, flashes of memories from being restrained, images of that awful Trium doctor, the smell of the Renegade sickbay, standing alone in the shower last night (Was it morning now? Did it matter? She had slept and that was what mattered), then Jean-Luc - their words and thoughts, tumbling over each other in her mind until the memories of the images in his mind blended with her memories from the many, many years they'd spent together, alongside each other, and the sex, oh my, the feel of him inside, even as brief as it was, and his  _smell_ , and the weight of him above her, his hands on her skin-

Goodness, she needed to get up and order her thoughts. Where  _was_  he? She could sense him but he was not in the bedroom with her, he was focused on something else, and she needed to empty her bladder and then eat something, then she would find him.

A trip to the bathroom improved her cognition substantially. She looked at herself in the mirror and she…well, she didn't recognize herself. Dark circles under her eyes, slightly sallow skin and a hollow expression etched on her face. But she was alive, and she and Jean-Luc-

She watched her reflection as a slightly absurd smile emerged on her face.  _Well, then. Things will be different, now, I suppose. Anyway, I could use a robe._ With a glance, she grabbed the silky robe hanging on the wall and went in search of food. And coffee. Coffee was a  _need_. She reached out and could feel him nearby - he was hungry, gathering things?

She exited to find him carrying a breakfast tray into the bedroom that smelled of coffee, which made her smile. He was in uniform, which made her wonder how long she'd been asleep-

"About ten hours. You needed it. Why did you get dressed?" He inquired with a smile, and she felt him send a vivid image of her in the robe, appreciating how it didn't fully close in the front.

"You seem to be in a good mood," she told him, enjoying the attention, watching as he set the tray on the table by the wall. Then he stepped forward and she was very aware of his proximity as she realized he was aiming his contentment towards her. Warm, dark images of  _her skin under his hands, her arched back, the curve of her neck_ , they slid through her mind.

She sent a murmur of approval and felt a soft flare in her lower belly. His blatant approval of her appearance, his apparent hunger for her? It was so new, so - his barriers were down. She had always wondered (secretly, of course) if he was a passionate man. He was so happy, content, and it mirrored her growing contentment. Maybe they would be all right, after all.

"You look better, Beverly. Rested. Would you like some coffee?"

* * *

As she ate, he spoke over his mug of tea. "We are on the way to Earth, taking the vaccine to Medical."

She took another bite of the scone. It was dreamy, soft, buttery, and she was so thankful that she was sitting safe in these quarters, and the memories of the Trium receded with each moment. "And the Enterprise?"

A grey-green wave of sadness emanated from him, but then it was pushed away by a slight smile. "My place is here with you. Where you go, I go."

She snapped her gaze up and met his stare. He felt like he looked on the shuttle. He was serious. She swallowed.

"Let's see what happens, first." Disappointment from him, but then he regrouped. He was happy, really, even with the layer of sadness about the Enterprise. Then he shifted, with a focus that was hidden by his carefully neutral expression. He sipped his tea.

"Are you going to Sickbay?"

She nodded, and his spike of irritation was quickly suppressed, then he looked sheepish as he confessed his thoughts. "I don't care for Wilson."

"I know."

* * *

He figured that she could feel his irritation, but he did  _not_  care for Wilson. There was something about that man, and he was so familiar with her-

A dark memory slid across her mind as he watched her. Wilson? And Beverly? Together?  _Merde_. Of  _course_  he detested the man. He set his mug down, a bit harder than he intended, leaned forward even as she radiated amusement.

"Did he touch you like I did?"

And she burst out laughing at him. "Is that what you're all about? Logan was a very long time ago, Jean-Luc-"

He leaned forward, possessive, and she stopped. But what could he say in response? She was right. She smiled at him in amusement, and he realized that she was enjoying his possessive jealousy.


	21. Chapter 21

Beverly was laughing because the look on his face was…he was uncomfortable, but he was genuine in his misery. He was so conflicted with this possessive streak, but it was so good to feel him being honest with her. And she liked it. She liked the attention, she liked his want, and she wanted him back.

The comm interrupted their amusement. "Wilson to Crusher. Please report to Sickbay."

She sobered. "I'll be there shortly. Crusher out." Picard watched her, then sighed with a resigned expression as he started enfolding his emotions back into himself, into a tidy bundle. She reached across the table and touched his hand in reassurance.

"Wilson was a very long time ago," and she sent him hazy memories. They weren't even that clear to  _her_. Thirty years could do that. "Even before Jack. And yes, something is odd about him now."

He nodded, watching her carefully. "I wish I didn't have to let you out of my sight. But York asked me to meet her on the bridge. Perhaps we could enjoy another meal together later?"

She raised an eyebrow as an unspoken question radiated from him. "And?"

"I would like to view the holo with you." Oh. Memories of the shuttle and the other universe came streaming back. The brief moments with that young man, and the woman who met her eyes with a shy but steady smile. And the other Jean-Luc, the one who looked at her with such longing.

"Me too," she replied. And she was gratified by the hopeful contentment that emanated from him.

* * *

She walked into Sickbay where Wilson was standing, waiting for her. "You're late," he stated with a sour look on his face. "The team is in the lab already." He gestured towards the hallway leading to the research labs. As she started down the long corridor, she heard him call out to her. "I'll be right there, Beverly."

The doors to the first lab were open, and she stepped in, looking around. Where was the team? The work table in the middle of the room was gleaming smooth, with three long, tall vials just sitting there, full of some dull, cloudy liquid. Who would have left samples on a work table without a secure container? All that protected them was a very basic stasis field, shimmering slightly in the air. The vials looked incredibly out of place; a research lab had a place for  _everything_ ; medical researchers didn't just leave out chemicals and solutions without securing them.

She tapped the display panel on the corner of the table and schematics popped up in front of her.  _Oh my._  The three vials weren't vaccines. They were synthesized viral solutions, based upon Trim and humanoid physiology. There was no sign of any vaccine sample in this lab.

Behind her, she heard the doors to the lab close, then a tone sounded abruptly, causing her to whirl around in surprise. Wilson was on the other side of the clear doors, staring at her, hand dropping from the door panel. He had locked her in. Her stomach dropped, and behind her, four rapid warning chimes sounded. Then the hum of the stasis field ended.

She watched him as he stepped back from the clear doors, still staring at her, no expression on his face at all. Then the ship rocked, and the lights dimmed as she felt the Renegade abruptly drop out of warp. She stumbled from the gravitational shift as she heard one, then two vials slide off the table, hitting the floor and splattering her with cool liquid.

* * *

"How is Doctor Crusher doing?" York watched Picard carefully as he sat across from her in the ready room. And she was quite surprised to see a bit of a smile emerge on the reserved man's face.

"She is recovering well. I am…" He trailed off, looking out the window. After a moment he brought his gaze back to York. "I am thankful." He sipped his tea, and York swore that she saw a mist over his eyes.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that-"

Both looked up in alarm as the room's lights dimmed. With a horrific jolt, the ship dropped out of warp, the starfield outside the portal window resolving from streaks to stationary flecks. The two went out to the bridge as the red alert siren began to wail.

As she entered the bridge, York saw the viewscreen full of a looming array of a fleet of Trium ships, aligned in battle formation. "They're firing," called out the comm officer. The ship rocked as she claimed the main chair, gesturing for Picard to take the open chair to her left.

"Hail them."

"No response,"

"They are trying to incapacitate us," Picard murmured to York.

"Obviously," she dryly replied, staring at the viewscreen. "But why? Why incapacitate when they could simply destroy us. What do they want?"

A voice from the security station: "Captain, we're being boarded - decks seven through twenty-eight-"

"Stop them. Computer, show me an overlay of the intruders. Where are they going?" The front display switched over to a schematic of the ship, and red dots were indeed on many decks, all moving towards...where?

York sucked in a breath. "Sickbay," she murmured, watching out of the corner of her eye as Picard's hands gripped the armrests. The Trium were trying to invade Sickbay. They must know about the vaccine. Or Doctor Crusher. "Contact Sickbay and tell them to send the vaccine information out via every available channel, even if their research isn't complete. Send security to intercept. Keep the research team working, and safe. If the Trium make it to Sickbay, they'll have what they need to destroy the Federation, and I won't let that happen."

* * *

Beverly watched as Wilson jogged away from the doors, down the corridor, around the corner and out of sight. She was furious, using her anger to push away her profound alarm. He had deliberately infected her. If he had wanted her dead, he would have started the decontamination cycle in the contained lab, destroying all evidence of life. But instead he had infected her and locked her in. He was going to come back for her, and use her as his "living sample."

A quiet calm settled over her, her thoughts clearing. She wasn't afraid of death, but she simply couldn't let the rest of the ship become infected, as well. And the ship was sitting dead in space. Wilson's actions and the incapacitated ship had to be related somehow.

If the ship wasn't moving, the Federation wasn't going to receive a vaccine (a vaccine that may not even exist - it certainly wasn't in this lab) She could irradiate the virus by vaporizing the entire lab - and kill herself in the process - or try to get off the ship and warn the Federation.

With a resolve that came from knowing that she was probably going to die soon, she pulled up the bridge feed to find out why the Renegade was dead in space – and by whom.


	22. Chapter 22

York surveyed her bridge, appreciating the efficiency of her crew under such extreme duress. Only a trained eye would reveal their anxiety as they engaged in evasive maneuvers against the Trium ship in space while fighting off the relentless invaders within. The red dots on the viewer slowly crept closer to Sickbay, though, and that was profoundly disturbing. Was the battle simply a distraction to allow the invaders to reach Sickbay?

A quiet chime sliced through the tense bridge. Both York and Picard looked down at their private viewers mounted on the chair arms. As she read, the language confused her for a moment, then full clarity came with understanding. She looked up to meet Picard's gaze. He had received the same message.

"This ship has a state of the art medical lab; we're being recalled to the Sol system," she said clearly, ensuring that the entire bridge could hear her. She wasn't going to keep this development from her crew. "The only reason the Federation would recall vessels with efficient medical facilities to Earth would be to prevent – or fight – a medical crisis. We're going to win this battle, and then we're going to Starfleet Medical. Arm torpedoes."

* * *

Beverly frantically threw supplies into a large pack she had replicated – hyposprays, mobile lab tools, laser scalpels, a second tricorder, two padds. A sound against the clear doors behind her caused her to whirl around in surprise, expecting Wilson –

No. Two Trium in full battle gear were scraping their talons against the clear doors, staring directly at her. Without hesitation, she activated the quarantine system and another set of doors behind them slid closed, trapping them in the decontamination bay alcove between the long corridor and the lab.  _There. Now they can't go back into Sickbay. Can't think about how they got in here and who they had to- no. Not yet. Think about it once you get off the ship._

She continued packing, trying to ignore the trapped Trium who didn't even seem to notice that they had been confined. They were more intent on getting to her.  _If they get in here, they'll have access to Patient Zero._ Distantly she realized that she was referring to herself in the third person. Which was fine, because she was already as good as dead-

 _Focus, Beverly._  She looked down into the pack, then secured it and strapped it to her back. Back to the replicator and with an override and some coding she had in her hands a quite substantial phaser rifle. Then over to the wall display, to see what the Trium are doing –  _ah, they're focused on the wall panel, now. Well, they're not getting out of there on my watch._

Pulling her attention back to the display, it had been a while since she had worked with a transporter panel remotely, but it recognized that she was in a quarantine lab – ah, there. Yes. The computer wouldn't allow her to use intraship transport, but that was fine, because she needed to get off this ship. The deck shifted under her feet with a disturbing rumble but she kept her balance, even with the pack on her back and the rifle in her arms and she continued to tap on the display – there. There  _was_  a shuttle out there, a patrol probably.

"Computer, initiate my transport onto the target and begin complete lab decontamination of all living entities on my mark in three, two, one. Mark."

The shimmer of the transporter took her away as she watched the Trium begin to writhe in agony from the fatal decontamination process.

* * *

Hours later, the Trium fleet was finally defeated. Picard hadn't expected the Renegade to survive the battle - only a fluke shot that ruptured the Trium shields of the point ship ensured the Renegade's victory. The warp drive was offline and a side of the hull had been sliced away, compromising life support on several decks. And Sickbay had been breached. Full reports were spotty, but the Federation ship suffered over one hundred casualties and countless injuries, many due to the relentless invaders.

With a hoarse voice, York ordered the crew to maintain the course to Earth, wiping her brow and smearing the blood slowly trickling down from her brow. Picard coughed again, the acrid smoke on the bridge filling his lungs. He calculated in his mind - on impulse, the trip to Earth would take over two weeks.

Picard turned to York. "I'm going to Sickbay." She nodded, whispered, "Take care of my people, please," and went back to overseeing the repairs, the repairs that he knew would take weeks and an inevitable dry dock on Earth. Picard went into the lift, watched the doors shut, and slumped against the wall, rubbing his face in horror. So many dead and more expected in the coming hours.

The doors of the lift opened onto the medical deck to reveal the aftermath of a battlefield. Weapons fire marred the walls, as weary, dirt-smeared security teams walked carefully over and around charred remains. An ensign knelt beside a pile of ashes with a tricorder, scanning the nondescript pile, no doubt trying to determine who the pile of ashes used to be.

As he stepped into a treatment bay (through the open portal; the sliding doors were destroyed, laying flat on the dirty carpet and covered in bootprints and weapons marks) he was confronted with bodies. So many bodies, bodies along the walls, bodies covered with silver or grey sheets on biobeds, piles of ashes on the floor with blue signage tags marking the names of the crew members. And a pile of Trium bodies in the corner, the black sheet barely concealing the mangled bodies.

He didn't sense Beverly at all. Swallowing: "Computer, where is Beverly Crusher?"

"Beverly Crusher is not on board the Renegade." With a start, he looked up, around at the exhausted, startled faces of the medical crew working on the few live patients.

"Where is she?"

"Beverly Crusher is not on board the Renegade," the computer repeated.

"Where is Doctor Wilson?"

"Doctor Wilson was killed in action today at 1147 hours on board the USS Renegade."


	23. Chapter 23

He didn't fully remember the kind doctors who gently pulled him over to the side of the treatment bay and checked him over as he stood in shock. Beverly was gone. Not dead, but gone? Wilson, however, was dead. He finally looked directly at the medical tech. His eyes were rimmed in red, but his voice was firm, if quiet.

"The Trium killed Wilson first, almost as soon as they made it into Sickbay. It was as though they were looking for him. And then they tried to make it back to the research labs. But we kept most of them away." The young man turned away for a moment, to the wall display. Tapping rapidly, he brought up a vid of the attack, undoubtedly from the Sickbay monitors. Sound off, Picard watched as the Trium burst into the bay, obviously in search of something. Wilson ran forward, straight at them – so strange – and the tallest Trium raised a weapon and blasted a hole through Wilson's chest, then through his head. As the doctor's body fell to the floor, the Trium contingent split off, running deeper into Sickbay, on some sort of mission.

The tech touched the screen, closing the vid and turning back to Picard. "They were searching for something or someone. And I don't think they found who or what they were looking for." A chime from the screen caused the young man to look back at the display-

"Sir, there's a message for you."

Picard blinked. Communication throughout the ship had been spotty over the past hour; perhaps it was York, still on the bridge. "On screen."

Beverly's face filled the view. She had a smear of blood on her forehead and a dark bruise forming on her cheekbone. Behind her was the interior of an unfamiliar vessel, rather small, actually. And she looked spooked but focused as she began to speak.

"I'm all right, Jean-Luc. But I couldn't risk the threat of the Renegade being destroyed along with our research. And I'm the best sample. I took a Trium shuttle and I'm on the way to Earth. The Trium may very well find me first, but a Renegade shuttle would have been too much of a target, and I can make it to the Sol system in about five days in this little ship."

She took a breath, looked down for a moment, then looked back at the screen and he saw the tension around her blue eyes, a haunted and hollow look within.

"It has to be me, Jean-Luc. It has to be me. I'm so sorry." Her eyes filled with tears, and suddenly she reached out and ended the recording.

He stood in the treatment bay, vaguely aware that the entire room was silent, having watched the message as well. Every eye was on him, and all he could do was stand there. His only hope was to trust that her shuttle would not be destroyed by another Trium vessel. Otherwise, he would have lost her forever.

* * *

Her boarding experience left a bad taste in her mouth. She didn't enjoy killing anyone. However, beaming directly onto a Trium shuttle had had the element of surprise, and she had been able to quickly kill the two Trium pilots with a minimum of mess, minus the bulkhead she managed to run into immediately after. A quick analysis of the controls had let her take over the navigation system, plot a course to Earth and depart the region before anyone – Federation or Trium – could stop her.

She spent several hours creating and using a makeshift mobile lab she created with her supplies and materials from the ship's basic replicator. After some time, she had been able to advance the research enough to create the first protiens for an eventual vaccine, thanks to the chemicals now present in her own blood. Her hands shook as she titrated the thick liquid, sealed the container and placed the mixture in a statis field.

By her predictions, the mixture should become the basis of a viable cure by the time the shuttle reached the Sol system. She pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to ease her blurry vision, telling herself that it was finally all right to relax. A vaccine for her own altered chemistry would take weeks to culture. But what she was creating would most likely help anyone who had not been subjected to neurological torture.

At least she would be able to save others.

* * *

Picard tried so hard to be useful, fully aware that he was a captain on a ship that already had a captain. York gave him assignments that he gratefully accepted – tasks in engineering that the ensigns and lieutenants assisted him with. He suspected that they all knew he wasn't an essential part of the repair effort, but he was thankful that the Renegade crew helped him keep busy.

As the ship limped toward Earth, they held a lovely memorial service in the days following the attack. So many losses took away any sense of hopefulness in regards to this mission. But immediately after the service, crew member after crew member came up to him, thanking him for his words and giving him hopeful comments about Beverly's brave acts.

As he walked back to his dreadfully empty quarters, he realized that the crew was treating him as though Beverly was not just his chief medical officer, but someone closer to him. Like a close friend. Or a wife.

* * *

Captain Cyrus Bertram sat on the bridge as the USS Horizon headed towards Earth. Information about the Trium crisis had been coming in and the medical staff had been in Sickbay nonstop, attempting to create an artificial sample of Trium blood.

Commander Salazar turned towards him from the first officer's seat. "Sir. We're detecting a Trium shuttle along our path."

Bertram blinked. "Just one?"

"Yes, sir. It's at maximum warp – headed towards Earth."

Bertram stood up. "Yellow alert. Hail the shuttle. And scan it."

"No response. Detecting one lifeform on board – human, sir."


	24. Chapter 24

Nearly two long weeks later, the Renegade was finally towed into orbit around Earth. Just an hour after arriving in drydock, Picard was summarily dismissed (along with York) from the bridge by the salvage and repair crew. They had remained on the bridge during the final tow, and York patted him on the shoulder as she left the bridge. He followed suit moments later, the repair crew ignoring him as he walked past them to the lift.

In his quarters he quickly packed the few belongings in the rooms – Beverly's dress, the holo, his minimal items of clothing and a padd. He anticipated a court martial in his future; he had abandoned the Enterprise days ago, even when he had access to the Renegade's shuttles. But it would be some time before that process began, and he had no immediate assignment in the meantime. Then he sat down at the terminal to look up the location of Admiral Beverly Crusher; it was confirmed. She was currently at Starfleet Medical in San Francisco. Of course.

His last contact with her? The message she sent from the shuttle: "I'm all right, Jean-Luc." The sight of her exhausted, bruised face haunted his memory - and yet he had watched it over and over again between the end of the battle and his arrival to the Sol system. With a deep breath, he grabbed the shoulder strap of his bag, looped it over his shoulder and strode out of his quarters. To San Francisco.

* * *

 

Medical looked...different. More open, updated in muted blue with bright, soft ambient lighting. He entered the large visitor area, walked up to an automatic terminal and queried the whereabouts of a Beverly Crusher. Received a floor and room assignment and headed that direction.

Upon arrival on the upper floor, he stepped out of the lift and looked around, headed down the corridor. The corridor was eerily silent – so different than the groans and the creaks of the Renegade over the previous weeks as it drifted towards Earth on impulse.

As he walked silently down the hallway, he didn't see any offices - only patient rooms with glass windows. His stomach dropped as he approached the doorway of the room he was told to find. Peering through the glass window, he saw a figure lying on a bed under a nondescript sheet. He could see the curve of a hip…and red hair spread out over the pillow. He pressed his palm against the glass, put his face as close to the glass as possible to see her.

_I'm a fool - she's not working at Medical. She's a patient. Merde._

"Sir?"

He jumped at the voice behind him, turned around. A young man in medical blue stood behind him with a helpful expression. "Did you want to go in and see her, sir?"

Picard tugged down the hem of his shirt, mouth dry and hands nearly shaking with horrified surprise. "I don't want to wake her," he stuttered awkwardly, dread threatening to close his throat.

"She's not asleep - see?" The young man pointed at the panel beside the window. The pulsing readout meant very little to Picard, but he nodded as if to say that he saw and understood. The nurse tapped the panel beside the door; Picard heard a quiet chime from inside and the doors opened to admit him.

He quietly stepped inside and moved towards the bed – and saw that she wasn't asleep. She was unconscious. Her body was absolutely motionless in front of him, and there was not even the slightest hint of any mental movement from her mind. He felt nothing from her. Nothing.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, realized just what he had been in denial about from the moment he found out that she was at Medical.

Picard pulled up a chair to the side of the bed, sat down slowly, crossed his arms, laid them on the bed beside her. After a moment, he pressed his face against his arms. And he silently wept.

* * *

Picard didn't clearly remember leaving Medical. He must have sat for hours beside Beverly's still body, fingers itching to hold her hand, touch her skin, but he refrained, not knowing if she could sense his presence or if his touch would harm her mind. He remembered the smell of the room (clean, bright, plasticine scented) but he was momentarily confused when he beamed to the transporter platform in La Barre – it was dark in France.

 _Of course. Different continent, different time._ He looked around at the quiet village, then stepped off the open air platform and headed towards the house, feeling the caress of the cool night air.

As he approached the vineyard, he found himself gasping for air, the sobs finally threatening to burst from his throat. It was all too real, too heavy upon him. He was exhausted - he hadn't been sleeping on the Renegade. And she had been too still under that blanket, on that bed, and she looked frail. The opposite of vibrant. The opposite of herself.

He pushed in the door and turned on the light, stood in the middle of the living room and gave in and wept.

_I just found her…we just found each other…and now she is lost before we even had a chance to be together…._

* * *

Picard woke up in his bed in his old bedroom and it took a moment for him to orient himself. He remembered stumbling into the shower the previous night, trying to wash away the tears, and then simply falling into bed, exhausted, drained. He blinked up at the ceiling and assessed himself. He was still tired - his body ached, a reminder of yesterday's tension...but he had slept. That was a first. He hadn't slept well since before the battle, weeks ago.

And he was hungry. That was new. He hadn't been eating much on the Renegade. Was it from finding Beverly? From being in France? He didn't know. He found himself in front of the replicator down in the kitchen, bare feet on the cold wood floor, staring at the replicator's older model and style, trying to figure out what to make. He settled on tea and toast, pushing away thoughts of Beverly on the biobed on the Renegade, clawing away in terror, her eyes peering up at him in his bed in the starlight, at Medical motionless under the blanket….no.

He sipped his tea, standing awkwardly in the middle of the silent kitchen, plate of toast perched on the edge of the counter.  _I don't want to be here, in this house,_ he thought.

_No, that's not it. I don't want to be here…alone._

The thought startled him, disturbed him, but then the feeling settled, and he became comfortable with his discomfort.  _I don't want to be here, alone, in this house, planet bound. I want to be back in space, with a whole ship, with a wife….wife? Yes. Wife. Partner. Beverly. My Beverly._   _If she wakes up…_ when _she wakes up, we'll need to talk about the future…_


	25. Chapter 25

Her mind was translating the distant sound into the wheezing rhythm of a death rattle - the noises a body makes when the transition from living to deceased doesn't take place under quiet, controlled sedation. The noises, however, were growing more robust, stronger, solidifying into a more natural sound, and she wondered if the sound was coming from outside or within -

Brightness, sensation and light, and chirping and the smell of a hospital, and the sound was her own breathing -

Medical. It sounded like Medical.

She opened her eyes. Her body was intact, her fingertips were cold and she was flat on her back, the weight of a blanket over her, and the colorful blurs in front of her face resolved into figures, doctors, looking down at her with relieved expressions. One face leaned down as she concentrated on feeling herself breathe, because it was a constant, grounding sensation.

"Admiral Crusher. Welcome back."

* * *

The many tests (questions about how she felt, and whether she could move her arms, and her eyes, and understand where she was) helped her gather her thoughts as she laid, then sat, on the bed. She remembered the shuttle, her creatively makeshift lab, looking over at the vials of her own blood in the warming device. The fatigue that crouched beside her as she worked methodically and quickly, racing against time and the limitations of her own body, then the fatigue climbing up her limbs, slowly fogging her mind. Remembered realizing that she should really stop working before she ruined the good work she had started, setting down all of the tools very carefully, raising her hands so she wouldn't knock anything off of the little table, walking back to the pilot chair step by step, thankful that she didn't really hurt. And then nothing. Absolutely nothing. The visual and sense memories felt fresh and new but the nurse explained that she had been unconscious for two weeks.  _Two weeks…so long._

Then a doctor handed her a padd preloaded with her chart and attached medical narrative. Bertram, a captain on another Federation vessel, had found her. She had been unconscious on the floor of the shuttle, like she had fallen off of the pilot chair. And they had stabilized her, brought her to Earth. The lab she created had what Medical needed to formulate the vaccine.

Additional memories suddenly rushed back and resolved into a bright, hard shell. The Renegade. The battle. And  _Jean-Luc-_

She pressed outward with her mind almost instinctively, but there was nothing. The odd sensation she used to have, the one that felt like listening and sensing all wrapped up together - it was gone. And was he even alive? Could she still sense him if he was? She froze for a moment, panic threatening to close her throat, hands gripping the padd and feeling her fingers go numb,  _needing_  to see whether the Renegade had survived the battle because he  _had_  to be alive, but also  _needing_  to know what had been  _changed_  in her  _brain_.

The need for news about Jean-Luc won out - with just a few taps, she was able to see that the Renegade had survived the battle, and it was in dry dock and the casualty list was accessible due to her security clearances - so, so many dead (including Wilson, but she'd think about  _that_  later), but Jean-Luc had survived.

She lowered the padd, realizing her hands were shaking. Swallowing, she took a breath, then another to center herself, and she pulled up her own chart again, going deeper into her treatment record, aware that the nurses and doctors were carefully aware of her tension and anxiety even as they conversed in a clump in the corner of the room.

There it was - the chart. Her brain. The overactive areas were normalized. She wouldn't be able to sense anyone or anything again. A deep anxiety began to blossom in her stomach, and she lowered the padd again, staring at the bland wall.

She had been unconscious for nearly two weeks. Jean-Luc had not. What conclusions had he drawn while she had been gone? Did he even know that she was alive?

* * *

She woke up and remembered again that she was at Medical, felt the familiar bed, heard the background noises, but there was someone else in the room, and she turned her head towards the sound -

Jean-Luc was sitting in the chair against the wall, slumped slightly but completely awake, radiating tension, jaw tight, and he was staring at her. It was unsettling. And she couldn't  _sense_  him, couldn't sense a damn thing about what was going on behind those eyes of his. He was unreadable. His expression was taut, masked, covering up something.

His physical state was easier to assess, however - hollow, red rimmed eyes, thin neck, thin frame. He looked haggard and exhausted. It had been a long two weeks for him, apparently.

"Will you come to France with me?" His restrained voice cut through the muted silence of the small room, startling her. She must have been assessing him for some time, and he had simply let her? With a blink, she thought about her San Francisco apartment, but no, that was gone. Her possessions were on a ship somewhere. He had to know that she had no home - was he offering his home out of pity, or obligation? The Federation would make sure she had a place to live if she needed one. But really, what did she have to lose by going with him? She was all alone. And deep down, she didn't fear for her health, or for the Federation - she was afraid of losing him. Again. So if she went with him, maybe they could resolve whatever was between them, once and for all.

He stood up (she realized that she must have made some affirmative gesture) and left the room without another word, posture tense and controlled. As the doors slid shut, blocking him from her view, she realized that something was very, very wrong with him. And she had no idea what.


	26. Chapter 26

After speaking with Beverly's team of doctors and letting them know that yes, she consented to leaving Medical with him (and knowing full well they would confirm with her directly) he spent the next hour in a waiting area while Beverly prepared for discharge. The sun was sinking over the horizon, and he stood in front of the window, watching the occasional shuttle streak across the slowly darkening sky. The room was surprisingly empty, and so he simply waited.

The unfocused, frantic movement of his memories had finally settled when the medical staff had let him into her room while she was sleeping. He had slumped in the chair against the wall and watched her for an hour, letting the sight of her gently breathing form seep into the primal part of his brain.  _Alive, alive, alive,_ his mind wailed, then stated firmly, then whispered, until it was a constant, quiet murmur in his head. And above the constant, obsessive refrain he fervently hoped that she would consent to coming to France with him.

He memorized her features, no longer attempting to ignore the possessive, jealous feelings churning within, resolving into a hardened focus. Just like when he had watched Wilson touch her, weeks and weeks ago, he was feeling a deep sense of protection, and it simultaneously repulsed him while drawing him even closer towards what threatened to become an obsession.

He remembered speaking with Beverly on Kes Prytt, trying to verbalize his state of mind years and years ago, when he realized he was in love with her while she was married to Jack. "It wasn't right," he had explained to her, radiating a level of tension that made his stomach churn, sitting there by the fire, and he had  _sensed_  her as her mind had wound around his short statement, then she had gone off in another direction as she continued her questioning, her exploration of their history together. To this day, he wondered if she had actually understood the undercurrent beneath his statement. "It" (his love for her) "wasn't right" because she belonged to another man, and she was  _happy_  with Jack, but he was such a selfish bastard and he  _wanted_   _her_   _anyway_. The flash of her eye when she smiled, the glimmer in her expression when she made her wry comments, the innocent touch of her hand on his back as she walked past him in the kitchen that one time, gathering dishes and cups for dinner as Jack reached to get the food out of the replicator. And if he continued to maintain contact with Jack and Beverly (with Beverly, really) at the same level, eventually his raw need to be with her (and it wasn't only sexual, it was emotion and need and want and a longing to please her and make her smile at him, all tied up together) would overcome his good sense and he would cross a line that should  _not_  be crossed and he would fall into an obsession.

He felt the same way, now. Except that the line was no longer a barrier, and it had already been crossed - he had professed his honest love, they had been together (if briefly) and he now knew that he would go anywhere to be with her. He simply needed to make sure that she knew these truths, and that she would stay by his side.

So he would wait for her. And when she woke up, he would take her to France, and he would make her understand that he was committed to her for the rest of his life.

Even if he no longer felt anything from her sleeping mind.

And he would attempt to calm the primal voice inside of him that was becoming hauntingly terrified at the thought of her leaving, even if it was in the unavoidable line of duty.

* * *

A noise behind him made him turn away from the window just as the last sliver of Sol slid behind the buildings. She was standing in the doorway, a gathering of medical staff behind her back in the hallway. She was dressed in a light blue tunic and pants; the color washed her out, but her eyes were vivid, wide in her face as she gazed at him evenly, neutrally. But she was too slim, and there was a grayish pallor to her skin, and her jaw was tight. Her hand brushed once against her small swingpack against her hip. He wanted to step forward, gather her into his arms-

"Ready?" she asked perfectly neutrally, as if  _she_  had been waiting for  _him_ , rather than the reverse, which was startling, catching him off guard. He stepped forward as she walked out of the room, down the hall to the lift. So he followed silently, leaving the medical staff behind. As the lift doors closed and gave the two of them privacy in the enclosed unit, she sighed and her posture sagged for a moment as he watched, not sure what she was thinking, or even if she was well. Perhaps it was too soon? Had he rushed her discharge? But they never would have released her if she wasn't whole...

"I'll be fine," she murmured, not meeting his eyes, facing the doors of the lift, leaving him unsettled. Then the doors opened, and she went to the left, entering a transporter room almost immediately. She stepped onto the platform, turned and watched him with that unsettling, neutral gaze, and he realized that he would be the one with the coordinates. So a short conversation with the transporter operator allowed him to follow her onto the platform a moment later, and the shimmer of the beam captured them both.

* * *

They materialized in the middle of the path leading up to the front of his home, the sky a rich indigo in anticipation of the rising sun, attesting to the time differential between Medical and France. He began walking towards the house, but after a few steps, he realized he didn't hear her footsteps on the gravel. He turned around in confusion. "Beverly?"

She was standing on the path, looking around at the vines, the trees outlined against the brightening sky. "So alive," she whispered. Looked at him. "Thank you for bringing me here." And as he watched her she swayed a bit – imperceptible to another, perhaps, but he caught the movement and it made his stomach flip in anxiety. Quickly he stepped back towards her, placed his palm against her arm. Her eyes focused as she tried to step away and wave him back. "I'm just tired - I'll be fine."

He stared at her for a minute, realizing that that was the first full sentence she had said to him since the Renegade, then pulled her swingpack off of her shoulder, knelt down and picked her up, swung her into his arms. She yelped in surprise and her arms went around his neck, gripping tightly. He headed to the door. "I have you," he stated with a wry smile. The gravel and dirt crunched under his boots. He made it to the porch -

"Jean-Luc, put me down." She sounded tired.

"No." Stomped up the porch steps, opened the door, carried her through the threshold. She looked around at everything - the wallpaper, the floral decor, the simple hutch against the wall - as he gently put her down in the middle of the sitting room and stepped back. She smiled wanly, arms loose by her sides, fingers plucking at the side of her tunic.

"Would you like something to eat, or would you like to rest?" Cautiously searching her face, fighting the urge to lean towards her, noticing that she was substantially shorter than him in her flat shoes, or was she still crouched over a bit, was she in pain?

"Ah, a shower, then sleep." Quiet, flat voice, but she met his gaze, and her face looked a touch more open, vulnerable even. Her expression made him want to press her body against his, cradle her head, tell her that she was going to be fine… With a shake of his head, he took her up to the master bedroom, pointed out the bathroom and she entered without a word, shutting the door behind her quietly, but firmly.

Well then. Tea. He would go downstairs and make tea. And try not to worry about Beverly.


	27. Chapter 27

_  
(chapter has been edited and expanded)_

 

* * *

His disconcerting departure from the comfortable room made her blink and struggle to sit up in the plush bed, as if sitting up could clear her head. She felt like she needed to do something, anything? Call after him to see what he meant? Being slower than normal infuriated her, because her mind was rapidly snapping into clarity and its normal operating speed. But then a nurse came in, and a doctor, with veiled expressions, capturing her attention. Was she losing time? How long had she been in here since he'd left?

"Would you like to be released?" The doctor posed the question directly towards her, but it was more like a statement? And the nurse was watching her intently, gaging her reaction.

"Yes. I want to go with Admiral Picard." The use of his title was deliberate; she was really to invoke her own rank, and to explicitly say that she wanted to go with him (because  _really_ they needed to talk, without prying eyes or ears, and she did want to go with him) when-

"Very well. We will prepare your discharge. The nurse will assist and I'll be back shortly."

And just like that, she was cleared for departure.  _Really? That was quite easy...odd._  But she'd take it. Because she wanted out of Medical (again) and something was off about Jean-Luc. The nurse walked towards the bed, and she sat up fully, ready to start the discharge process.

* * *

 

The discharge was perfectly routine, by the book. It was as if she was no longer needed and being dismissed from duty? From service? Of course, that was true - they had repaired her brain, and she would never, ever sense Jean-Luc again. She was an admiral with brain damage (now repaired, but still), the survivor of a deadly virus (no longer in her system though), the creator of the foundations for a cure (the work now taken over by more capable minds)...she was no longer needed. She ignored the unsettled flutter in her stomach. What was her purpose, her identity, her work?

And did Jean-Luc truly want her in his home, or was he simply being polite?

She shook her head, refocused. Ah, they were finished and pointing the way towards the visitor lounge, handing her a slingpack of medical tools to take with her. The doors opened and she watched him turn away from the window, that odd tension still in his posture, but his eyes were more open, searching, assessing (he always had been able to peer into her) - but she wasn't going to speak with him until they had privacy.

"Ready?" she asked, effectively heading off any of his questions, but the twitch around his eyes made her wonder just how awful she looked. But she knew that he would follow her, so she led the way out of Medical, wondering why there were no familiar faces in the corridors (she had been stationed there for some time, and while she didn't know everyone many were vaguely familiar. But none on the walk) and using her assessment of their surroundings to push away the truth that she couldn't sense him any more.

As she waited for Jean-Luc on the platform, watching him converse with the attendant, she  _listened_ for him but there was nothing. It was like remembering a sound. The sensation was deep in her mind, but it was no longer real. And as he approached and stepped up onto the platform beside her, she realized that she was exhausted. Just bone chillingly exhausted.

Seconds later they were in France, and it was dark, the outlines of trees against the horizon and the wide open sky filling her view. The weight of the past hours (day? weeks?) collapsed on her, and what had she done to their relationship? She had had to leave on that shuttle, but she left him with only a message, and now this odd, uncomfortable terseness from him... Uncharacteristic guilt pressed down upon her, making her legs wobble.

She vaguely remembered him picking her up and she made a yelp that she hated but she held on as he carried her through the door. Oddly enough, her mind whispered to her the hint of a memory, weeks ago when he had been sitting across from her in the shuttle after the anomaly, so earnest and longing with her when he had proposed marriage.

* * *

 

She pushed open the door to the bathroom, ignoring the twinge radiating from her forearm down her back, and gazed longingly at the huge tub.  _Well, that is unexpected._  And thought about a bath but then realized a shower would be faster. The water was almost immediately hot, and she took off her clothes, left them in a pile on the floor and stepped under the spray.

The water was hard against her skin, making her wince – it hurt. It felt good against her skin, but it hurt her muscles.  _I don't think the healing process is finished._  She reached for a washcloth hanging on the wall and noticed it was slightly damp.  _Hmmm. Must have been his._

There was soap on the ledge –  _lavender and rose -_  And she wondered if he had found it for her.  _Those are the scents I wear…he must have noticed. Polite or something more?_

Stepping out of the shower, she reached for a towel – and realized that while she had a towel, she had no clothes to change into. So she pulled his robe off of the hook and wrapped it around herself. Went into the bedroom and saw a nightgown folded on the side of the bed.  _That was thoughtful._  Fought the urge to simply curl up and try to rest, to push away the pain.

_I hurt._

She forced a shaky breath.

 _And I'm scared. Maybe this won't work._ She tried to calm her mind as she pulled on the nightgown and slipped back into the robe, beginning to dry her hair with the towel. A sound from the doorway caused her to look up. He was standing just inside the bedroom, holding her slingpack.

"Beverly, how are you feeling?" His voice was neutral, assessing, as his gaze flicked down and then up her entire body.

"Better, thank you." And she stood there awkwardly, holding the wet towel in her hands, looking at him. What was he thinking? She was so lost, not having the connection-

"Stay with me."

She blinked, suppressing the flutter of hope in her stomach. "What do you mean?" Asking cautiously, tentatively.

"Stay with me, Beverly. I'm not leaving you again."

All of her fear came rushing back.  _This can only end in heartbreak._  "Jean-Luc, we don't know if this...if we can work-"

He interrupted her, something he had  _never_  done before. "Stay with me," he repeated firmly.

She shook her head, frustrated, gripping the towel. "It's not that simple-"

"Yes it is." And he stepped quickly from the doorway into the bedroom, tossing her slingpak on the bed, stopping mere centimeters in front of her. Taking the wet towel from her hands and throwing it towards the bathroom, he grasped her hands and pulled them in between their chests, drawing her so very close to him. Startled, she was looking up into his face because she was barefoot and he was fully clothed and wearing boots, and she could feel her wet hair against the shoulders of the robe, and he leaned forward and began to speak intently.

" _It is that simple._  At this moment, I have no ship and you have no lab. For today, all we have is each other. And I'm not leaving you ever again. Stay with me. We belong together, and I love you."

She swallowed, her skittering heartbeat making it hard to focus on anything but the man in front of her, gripping her hands. His grey-blue eyes were steady, calm as they met hers.

"I know you're afraid," he murmured.  _Is it that obvious?_  she wryly thought to herself, feeling her mouth quirk up involuntarily in a tiny smile.

"And I'm afraid, too," he continued. "But I spent too many years being afraid. It's time to stop running away from each other." And just like that, he leaned down and kissed her, still holding her hands in his. She closed her eyes in surprise, frozen. His mouth was firm, but not insistent - he was giving her time to say no, but after a few seconds he deepened the kiss, pulling her body flush against his, and  _oh, this is good._


	28. Chapter 28

He drew back from the kiss ever so slightly, leaving her bereft and nearly lightheaded. "I'm going to take care of you, Beverly," he murmured against her cheek, then inhaled as if he was pulling in her scent. She pressed her palms against his chest, dazed at the attention and his intense closeness.  _What is all of this? So different from his distance earlier-_

"Are you hungry? Let me get you what you need. Do you want to rest?" Sliding his fingers down her cheek, searching her gaze, but the scrutiny was  _good_  and it made something inside of her unclench in relief. She flexed her fingers against his chest, feeling more grounded by the feel of his solid presence in front of her.

"I'm fine-"

"You're  _not fine._  And that's all right. I'm going to take care of you, now. Sit." Pressed against her shoulders until she was sitting on the edge of the bed and he was looking down at her. "Let me bring you something to eat." It was a statement, not a question. "Don't go anywhere." And he pulled back almost reluctantly and left the room.

She swallowed, staring at the empty doorway he had just gone through. Maybe she could (for once) simply focus on the present, and let herself enjoy…him. Her eyes caught the swingpack, so hastily tossed on the bed. Curious, she opened it. At Medical, a nurse had handed it to her without a word. Inside was a handful of hyposprays, an industrial handheld scanner and a padd. The padd had a blinking icon. She activated the screen and began to read.

* * *

He returned to the bedroom carefully balancing the tray in his hand, bringing a bounty of white cheese, grapes, apples, and a loaf of crusted bread. She looked up from the padd with an odd expression. "There are others, Jean-Luc," she stated quietly, watching him.

He tried not to react as he sat the tray down on the dresser by the door, then looked at her, carefully keeping his face neutral. She looked a bit calmer, more focused, but still she needed to eat and then she needed to sleep, to diminish some of those dark circles under her eyes, she was in no condition to try to save the universe again..."What do you mean?"

"I mean that there are other patients, from other universes, back at Medical. There's data put on this padd for my eyes only." She raised the padd and waved it towards him, then set it down on her lap. "I need to go back. But I don't think they will let me reenter and gain access to anything substantial. And you won't work - they know you're with me. We need someone who is an outsider, who can gain us access."

A sinking feeling settled in his stomach. He couldn't lose her again. "You are in no condition to be running around-"

"I know, Jean-Luc. I think we have a few days. The patients aren't awake. And I need to recover before I infiltrate Medical." Her mouth quirked up in a mischievous smile. "So, I suppose I should live in the moment, for once. What did you bring me?"

He broke out into a grin, feeling the relief course through his body. She wasn't leaving yet. "I hope you like bread and cheese, my dear."

Her smile was soft, welcoming, and she held his gaze a few seconds longer than friends would, then her cheeks tinted pink ( _she was blushing? How endearing_ ) and she looked over at the tray on the dresser. She pulled in a breath as if to speak, surveying the tray, then spoke quietly. "I'd like  _you_. But first, bread and cheese to renew my strength." She scooted back to the pillows and to the other side of the bed, beckoning him down beside her.

He brought the tray over and sat carefully, considering what she had just said. Was that an invitation? But they ate quietly. Well, he nibbled sparsely while she methodically ate almost everything that was on the tray.

Finally, she leaned back, seemingly satisfied. He placed the tray on the table beside the bed and watched her. And she turned so that she was positioned against the pillows and placed her ankle over his as they sat next to each other. Her nightgown slid up to expose her calf and part of her knee. He found his hand on her ankle, tracing circles with his thumb. He had never touched her ankle before and he longed to slide up, feel her leg under his palm-

He glanced up at her face and her eyes were clear and open as she met his gaze. "I'm afraid. But I'm here." And she leaned over, placed her hand against his face, and she pulled him forward and kissed him.

* * *

She was underneath him, still dressed but soft and pliant and it was so easy and relaxed and not nearly as urgent as the last time (the only time) and maybe that was because her mind wasn't in his and he could try to separate himself and catalog every single sensation. She was slimmer underneath him and her ribs were there around her chest but she was still curled up around him, her taste filling his senses and she pushed her face against his neck and sighed.

"More," her voice was soft but understandable. The warmth of the sun against his back was nothing compared to the heat radiating from her body underneath him.

"More," he agreed quietly and slid his hand up her leg, pulling up her nightgown in the sunlight and the warm room and she arched her back, lifting her arms above her head so that he could pull it off.

He had seen her in starlight and shadow when they had been together before. He had watched her in low light as she was under the covers and then when she walked across the room in the black gown he had replicated for her. He had seen her under the bright, harsh light of the emergency treatment bay when her skin was hollow and bruised. But now, in the sunlight, with her arms raised above her head, the perfectly shaped curve of her waist and the sweep of her torso, neck and breasts.

* * *

His fingers were inside and his thumb was rubbing against her nub and she realized that if he continued she was going to release against and around his hand but there was no way to slow it down-

She opened her eyes to find him centimeters from her face, watching her, and his walls were down and he wasn't holding himself back anymore. His intent, focused expression as he watched her as the tension spiraled up, it was just so good, so  _right_. She felt her jaw twitch involuntarily and the intense slide of male satisfaction across his face in response, so good-

White hot oblivion and arched back and she was gripping his arm which was just so damn solid and she realized the sound in the room was her strangled breath. And he was there beside her and he wasn't going to let her fall.

* * *

She was filled up, so full, and he was perfectly steady which was simultaneously not enough and too much. She pulled her gaze from the ceiling to his face and was startled once again by his intensity and focus. And the rigid muscles in his substantial arms that were on either side of her head.

Ah, he was holding back. "Don't hold back," she whispered, wanting him, wanting more, and they fit together so well, they just moved in sync-

"Beverly," stroke "I am-" stroke "not about-" stroke "to take my pleasure-" stroke with a lift at the end "before you-" thrust "get what you need-" and a tilt of his pelvis made her breath hitch "again."

* * *

She woke up and she was warm, so warm, and she remembered and felt his arms around her and his gentle, steady breathing as she soaked in the sunlight warming the sheets and the bed, his scent all around her. He was holding her like he possessed her.

She was safe. And they were together. Maybe this would work after all.


	29. Chapter 29

She had come downstairs, wrapped in his robe, to find him making tea ( _of course he is making tea_ ) and he glanced up and the smile was back into his eyes. She entered the kitchen, stood at the table and looked down at the holo.

It was time.

She felt his eyes upon her as she lifted the holo, held it cupped in her hands, then set it back down and with a gentle tap, she activated it, and the kitchen was filled with ghostly figures moving without sound -

_Two tall figures, him in black dress uniform, she in a blush sheath dress, and they were dancing gracefully across the room,_ _his hand pressed firmly against her back, her cream veil tumbling over her shoulders with red hair sneaking out as she leaned forward to catch what he was saying, her happiness being replaced by intense focus as he spoke with a carefully suppressed twinkle, and then her head thrown back in full-bodied laughter, eyes shut, as he gazed at her with a mischevious, satisfied smile, as though there were no others around -_

_\- Jean-Luc in uniform, arms crossed as he was standing and smiling down at a diapered baby who was sitting at his feet, clutching the fabric_ _of his pants leg and gnawing on a little fist, eyes wide open in curiosity -_

_\- a serious, dark-haired boy of about ten looking at a girl just a year or two younger with a tumble of red-brown hair to her chin, and she was holding up a padd, showing him something on the screen, pointing very earnestly at it -_

_\- the back of two teenagers looking out a wide viewport at something in space, their stances (hands clasped_ _behind them, shoulders straight and yet relaxed) perfectly (and yet most likely unintentionally) identical -_

The holo shut off and the farmhouse kitchen became just a kitchen again, and she stared at the little box. She had always loved the holodeck and theater because she loved becoming someone else, knowing how someone else felt, thought, emoted, spoke, but watching these holo images brought her into an almost painful awareness of other paths, other choices, other loves. She wasn't sad, but she was...well, she was something. It was as though these memories were under her skin. They weren't her memories, but they were somehow comfortable all the same.

She realized that she had been standing there silently for quite some time, and she looked over at Jean-Luc, and she saw that he was crying. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her and she rested her arms on top of his, wondering yet again how they fit together so well, and that they had spent many years when they should have been this close.

"I want this life, with you," he whispered, and kissed her neck.

* * *

She was pressed back against the countertop and it was sweet and good and he was attempting to devour her and she loved it. Loved it so much that she felt the clench in her stomach and the nearly metallic taste in the back of her mouth as she felt her body respond to him, now that she was no longer suppressing those desires.

She let herself enjoy the moment, in the middle of the kitchen, because she knew that she needed to go back to Medical to find the others.

* * *

Picard and Crusher had simply walked into Medical, and no one had stopped them. It had been her idea, and as they walked through section after section he realized that she really did have full security clearances...and then some. She seemed to know exactly where to go, and they went through corridors and into areas that seemed deserted until she stopped in front of a panel, tapped a code, and they entered into a giant lab of some sort, and there were nurses and doctors in uniform, testing vials of substances and tapping on screens and walls and when they walked into the center of the room, all of the activity ceased. All that broke the silence was the steady chirp of computer systems. The room and the crew looked sterile. Sterile room, grey walls, harsh uniforms and nervous crew.

"You." She pointed at a doctor in a lab coat, the one who was the center of the now ceased activity. "I'm ordering you to disclose why you are working on this classified project."

The man actually blanched, face going grey-green with anxiety. Picard realized that the hapless doctor knew he had no grounds to withhold anything at this point. Beverly would have him thrown in the brig and move onto the next person until she received an answer, and everyone in the room knew it.

"Computer: release Section 31 file titled 'Sigma.'" The screen on the wall lit up and Beverly walked over, read for a moment, then tapped a symbol. The image dissolved to reveal a clear window that showed a patient room, with someone in the bed. The edge of the screen showed a medical chart. Name: Wilson.

Picard stiffened. But Wilson was  _dead_. The roster on the Renegade showed him as deceased, and Picard had seen the man's dusty remains on the floor of Sickbay, weeks ago. Beverly turned and stared at him, trying to tell him something without speaking and vaguely Picard felt himself  _listening_ , but of course there was nothing to hear. Then her hand clenched once, and she called out over her shoulder to the doctor.

"The anomalies. You're keeping people here in our universe and you need to send them back. Immediately."

* * *

He was nearly running to catch up with her as she was briskly walking down the corridor, talking with the small research team, saying things he did not understand but her tone was rapid and urgent, when he was distracted by a  _whisper inside the mind, a burning in the nose as though he was involuntarily about to cry, outstretched like a hand reaching out towards him and sliding against his mind like fingers gently trailing across his arm by a friend. Or a lover who was longing for the touch of skin on skin-_

He stopped in the middle of the corridor, an odd taste in his mouth from the confusing sensation that was arising. Familiar, it fit but it was  _different_  but he couldn't help but reach out toward it he  _needed_  to find it -

He turned his head and it got stronger, a more solid sensation, a calling -

 _Jean-Luc?_  And he felt  _tears, an orange-yellow swell of hurt and tentative hope reaching towards him -_

He began to run and ran past Beverly and the nurses and doctors, skidded to a halt in front of the doorway to yet another nondescript room but the room matched the image placed in his brain, and he pressed his fingers against the panel, trying to open the door, because he  _needed_  to be in there but the door wouldn't open for him? And in frustration he slapped his hand against the closed door-

"Jean-Luc!" He whirled at Beverly's voice behind him, she was jogging towards him with the group right behind her, eyes wide, searching his face for an answer, but he couldn't form the words. The mind on the other side of the door had quieted, but it was  _there, waiting, hoping and it was choked with hopeful want, holding silent now, waiting, waiting and attempting not to plead -_

"Admiral, you can't go in there," a doctor (a new one - the voice was not familiar) called out urgently from down the corridor, nearly yelling and it was unclear who she was speaking to, but Picard watched Beverly blink, and then she just looked furious, and she reached for the panel very deliberately-

"You can't-" and this time the voice was a true yell, and the door opened into a lab and he ran in and froze - there was a woman standing up on a treatment platform in the center of the lab, clothed in a grey medical gown, surrounded by doctors who were staring at him and behind him in surprise and horror. It was a woman, with red hair streaming down her shoulders and dark, dark circles under her eyes, gaze fixed upon him.

 _I want to go home._ And he was _surrounded by warmth and a gentle smile and arms around him and the memory of a ship her ship his ship their ship and their family._


	30. Chapter 30

She had allowed herself that brief (well, not so brief) moment in the kitchen and then into the living area, where his hands and his mouth and his scent grounded her, pulled her into her body, and so carefully he had kissed her skin, then eventually devoured her (in every sense of the word) and she had pushed her mind’s ramblings down and enjoyed the long, long moments.

 

Beverly appreciated knowing what Jean-Luc sounded like when they were….together. He was very quiet in general, but the catches of his breath and the barely audible murmurs were now cataloged in her mind. But after they had finally collapsed together, he had lifted himself up and looked down at her, brushing her hair from her face. “We’re going to Medical, aren’t we,” he said, and it was a statement, not a question. She had just nodded, and he had lifted himself off of her, offered her a hand as she carefully got up, feeling a new and much more pleasant set of aches and pains in her back and legs, and hand in hand they had returned to the bedroom to clean up and get dressed. 

 

* * *

 

No one stopped her when she arrived at Medical, and it was gratifying. She had been discharged as a patient, but her clearances were not so easily taken away, and she was back in uniform, so she looked like she belonged. Stalking through several main treatment bays, she then took  Jean-Luc into the depths of the facility - into areas that would not have come up on any public schematics. And she had walked through corridors until they arrived at the subterranean bays that didn’t officially exist, and she should have had more of a plan, but it didn’t matter - what else could they do to her? She had already been through hell and back, she had been thrown into a different damn universe weeks ago, she had been mentally violated by an alien race, pushed out of Medical as if her being away from the place would keep her from figuring out what was going on - she wasn’t afraid. 

 

She was furious. 

 

So it was anger that propelled her into the largest bay (that didn’t officially exist) and directly into the swirling mass of medical personnel, fury at the truth that she knew that some faction of the Federation was keeping people against their will, in a universe they didn’t belong to -  _they had loved ones and crew in other universes, looking for them! They don't belong here, trapped like animals being experimented upon_  - 

 

And when that terrified doctor (she noted his appearance, she was going to ensure that his credentials were stripped once this was all resolved) had released the report and she had seen a mirror version of Wilson lying on a bed, her skin crawled. She reminded herself that it was not the same Wilson who had locked her up and left her to die by the hands (claws) of the Trium. But this Wilson had to come from _somewhere_ , and she wondered if he had come from the universe she and Jean-Luc encountered weeks ago, when they took the shuttle into the other universe and met the children (her children somehow, she thought of them as hers in a way), and she met the other Jean-Luc who looked at her with love...

 

She needed to see who else was at Medical. Especially if they were being kept against their will. Taking a handful of crew with her, she left the lab, peppering them wth questions - who had started this project? How long had they been keeping patients? Where were the other patients? And at her third question the nurses looked at each other warily and all sorts of warning signs went off within her mind, because she knew damn well there were other patients, and she needed to know who they were -

 

\- Jean-Luc suddenly ran past her, hellbent on getting _somewhere_. She had nearly forgotten about him, so focused she was on uncovering the mystery, but he skidded to a halt several meters ahead, and he was frantically pressing a door panel, then slamming his palm against it in frustration, the anger so unlike him and she jogged towards him. A voice cried out from behind her - "Admiral, you can't go in there-“ but she obviously didn’t give a damn. If they didn’t want her to enter then she most certainly needed to get inside. A tap, an identification scan and the door opened. Jean-Luc charged in before she could take a step, but then he stopped in the middle of the room with a strangled wheeze. She looked past him and her heart froze - 

 

She was confronted with a mirror image of _herself_ , up on a treatment platform, standing up there in a patient robe, haggard, gaunt, worn. The woman’s focus was fully on Jean-Luc and the expression on the woman's face look was so familiar - it was the focused, steady gaze Jean-Luc had whenever he had been mentally communicating with her, weeks ago when they had been on the Renegade and they had been connected for that brief, odd, terrifying and intoxicating period of time. 

 

This was her counterpart, from a parallel universe, and the woman possessed the mental connection Beverly used to have with Jean-Luc. With dread rising within her, Beverly turned to look at Jean-Luc.

 

Oh, oh no. She shouldn’t fear, shouldn’t dread, but there he was, looking at that woman up there as if a part of his soul had been restored. And Beverly felt her own heart break. 

 

Beverly didn't have what he needed. But the woman on the platform did. 

 

* * *

 

Frozen, staring at the woman, he heard her within his mind, and it felt so right, because amid her pain and desperation was _love pressing towards him._  


 

  
_My children_ \- and she nearly forcefully pushed into his mind the image of _two young adults, in uniform_ , and they were the young adults he had met months ago on the mirror Enterprise, with the other Picard, the children the other Picard had had with Beverly Picard. The very same children who had been in the holo he viewed with Beverly hours ago back at the farmhouse - _her swell of relief, relief that he knew where she came from, that her children were alive and whole,_ and _how is my Jean-Luc?_ A bravado that was undergirded with fear for the man she loved, but still there was a firmness, a focus throughout her memory, _the assurance that her husband was beside her always, literally and figuratively -_  


 

“They are all well, but you need to go home," he whispered out loud, and her sweep of relief at the news that her loved ones were alive and well nearly made him collapse right there in the middle of the lab. 

 

"And you need to take care of her," she replied audibly, a soft smile on her face despite the fact that she was up on a treatment platform, surrounded by nurses peering up at her. With a nudge from the woman that felt like a tap on the shoulder, he turned around to see his Beverly standing there behind him, grey-pale, so still and with her perfectly neutral face, the clutch of nurses and doctors standing behind her, watching the interaction with wide, anxious gazes. 


	31. Chapter 31

_(a shorter but hopefully clarifying chapter...)_

 

* * *

 

 

His Beverly had that closed-off expression, the one with the pressed together lips and he saw that she was unsuccessfully masking a look of horror. Over the years he had learned to read his Beverly's face, even when she had her neutral, bland expression plastered over her true emotions, but her expression in that moment was raw, broken. She was looking at him and she was defeated, hopeless - and he was so thankful that the alternate Beverly up on the platform was quiet in his mind, no longer speaking or distracting him.

He went over to where his Beverly was standing, quickly closed the distance between them, clasping her cold, limp hands in his, not caring about the plethora of awkwardly standing nurses and doctors surrounding them. "Beverly, it's all right - this is the doctor from the other universe, remember?" Her face was blank, but she pulled in a breath, held it, let it out but she wasn't understanding him, and he needed her to understand -

He lowered his voice, not caring how intimate their interaction would appear to the doctors and nurses cautiously watching. "After the medical ball, when we had to leave Earth and go through the anomaly, into the other universe? And we met my counterpart, the one who explained that his wife was away at Medical? This is his wife, and she's in the wrong universe-"

"She loves you." Beverly's words were brutally cold but so quiet, and he was again aware of the many, many people surrounding them, because they were in the middle of a research bay. "And you can sense her mind, can't you." She wasn't asking him a question.

The other Beverly pushed into his mind, and he twitched in surprise, but her mind was clear and comforting within his -  _Tell your Beverly that I just want to get home - and that I don't love you, I love_  my  _husband! You're lovely, but I want to be with my_  own  _Jean-Luc._  And mental laughter accompanied her thoughts.

He met his partner's eyes. "She just wants to go home. She doesn't love me. She wants to be home - with her husband, and her children. I don't want her. I need you."

* * *

Beverly Crusher stood in the middle of the treatment bay and felt her heart break as she watched Jean-Luc look up at that woman with love all over his face. And she hated that this was so public but she could not hide her hurt, and she knew it was obvious to all, and she had been such a fool, because she saw now that he needed, craved the mental connection from that woman - but then he was in front of her, holding her hands, speaking, explaining -

"Beverly, it's all right - this is the doctor from the other universe, remember?" His words continued, and she started to put the pieces together - this was the Beverly they never met, weeks and weeks ago when they were in the other universe themselves, and the other Picard was really just drifting, waiting for his wife to come home -

"She loves you," it slipped out, and her filters were gone, gone, because the logic was there but she saw how he was looking at the patient up on the platform -

"She doesn't love me," he stated kindly, but he was worried, she saw it around his eyes. He stopped speaking, waiting for her reaction. And as he waited, she remembered their brief hours on the other Enterprise, when she had met another Jean-Luc, one that was married to his CMO. The memory came rushing back - they had been in the lift, and  _he had turned and faced her, gazed at her face like he was a man starved for the sight of her. "I miss my wife. We're under orders to maintain silence, and we haven't spoken in two months. I miss her presence. And you…I know you're not…my Beverly. But. It is good to…be with you."_

_They stood silently, and Beverly watched as his eyes filled with tears, and she had noted just how vulnerable he looked. He slowly moved a hand towards her face, cupped her cheek with his palm. Beverly moved forward on an impulse, suddenly wrapping her arms around him and pressing her face against his cheek. She inhaled, taking in the scent of him, and softly kissed his cheek, then pulled back, sliding her hands down his arms._

_"I'm sure she misses you, too. Deeply."_

They had come full circle. She sighed. It wasn't all right, because she needed to figure out where this primal jealousy and fear was coming from, but for the moment, she would survive. Looking past Jean-Luc's concerned expression, she gazed at the woman up on the treatment platform, the woman who looked just like her. "You've been kept here against your will," she called out. The woman's jaw tightened, then nodded once.

Beverly shifted her gaze back to Jean-Luc. "Let's get this woman home."


	32. Chapter 32

Sequestered away in the private examining room, Beverly Crusher watched Beverly Picard stand by the wall viewer and view her readouts. The gaunt woman scrolled through her readings, all notated with warning flags: she was on the edge of malnutrition, heightened anxiety levels, hormones elevated -

Pregnant. The positive result was right there on the screen. It was very, very early, but it was most certainly a positive result. The former prisoner turned around and faced Beverly Crusher with a steely gaze. "Do not tell anyone about this."

Crusher nodded, shocked, stunned. _Did she arrive in this universe pregnant? Or did they do this to her? Consent would have been nonexistent-_  Bile rose in Crusher's throat at the stark realization that the woman could very well have been impregnated against her will.

The former prisoner turned back around, ignoring Beverly's silence, and began tapping on the display again, pulling up the DNA analysis - Beverly Picard and a Jean-Luc Picard. And she began to speak, still facing the wall display. "They reversed my contraceptive implant almost as soon as they captured me." The woman's voice was quiet, weary. "I knew what they were doing. The timing was perfect, because my husband and I had had intercourse the night before. And after they brought me out of sedation, my medical record showed that I had conceived. I need to get home as soon as possible."

Crusher cleared her throat. "We can terminate the pregnancy."

"Oh, trust me, I know. But I'd rather just go home right now. Get me back into some semblance of health, and then help me get back home." The other woman's shoulders slumped, and she didn't turn around. The weight of the world appeared to be upon her.

Beverly Crusher nodded and reached for a tricorder. "Come up onto the bed," she said gently.

* * *

Picard was a bit lost once his Beverly took the other woman down from the platform and whisked her away into a treatment room. The entire crew in the sparse medical lab was looking at him for direction, the silence in the room broken only by the background noise of the computer systems. He didn't want anything to do with Section 31. Too many awful memories from years ago, from missions that had spooked him. He looked around at the crew, all staring at him, waiting for instruction, for  _something_.

"Where did you come from?" The question hung in the lab, and then a woman - a doctor - spoke, stepping forward.

"We've been forced to work here by Section 31 - they've threatened our families. Have you come to rescue us?" Picard blinked in surprise as the woman continued. "We all just want to go home. We don't belong here."

With mounting horror, he remembered Beverly's words from when they were in his sunlit bedroom the day before.  _"There are others, Jean-Luc...other patients, from other universes, back at Medical..."_  The other Beverly wasn't the only person snatched out of her own universe.

* * *

Beverly treated the woman methodically and silently. Recalibrating her nutrients, fixing the bruises, checking for internal wounds, but the patient (easier to think of her as a patient, not as her counterpart from another universe, not the woman that invoked an irrational jealousy) was all right - she was simply exhausted, under duress. And pregnant. Beverly swallowed past a lump in her throat. _This woman needs a counselor, and she needs to go home to her own universe, decide what she wants to do-_

"He loves you so much." The other woman's quiet voice broke the silence in the exam room, but Beverly didn't (couldn't) look up. The way her Jean-Luc had looked at that woman was emblazoned in her mind, his carefully controlled command persona stripped away, leaving harsh, wounded longing on his face-

"It was all over his mind. He is very much like my husband."

Beverly looked at the medical display, unwilling (unable) to meet the other woman's eyes. Anxiety coursed through her as she remembered watching Jean-Luc mentally communicate with this woman. But her voice was steady when she responded, which surprised her. "How did you two become mentally connected?" And she turned and watched the patient as the woman's expression shuttered.

"We...keep that confidential. We don't speak of it much. It started out badly, very badly," (and the woman blanched, then recovered) "but then we slowly learned to love it. We were already committed to each other when it happened." The woman met Beverly's gaze steadily, with a touch of defiance in her lifted chin.  _Evasive...but everyone deserves their privacy, I suppose. And she's had no privacy - no agency - for some time._

And she watched the woman spread her palm and place it over her stomach, raising her chin.

"Beverly Crusher, help me get home."


	33. Chapter 33

Nearly an hour later, Beverly brought her slightly limping counterpart back into the main treatment bay, and they emerged into a bustle of activity. The treatment bay felt much different than before. The lighting had been raised, and along the side wall Picard was speaking to several groups, crew who had sorted themselves into tight-knit clusters, and they looked as though they fit together ( _ah, they must have grouped themselves by their home ships_ ). Several other security personnel were dismantling the awful, ominous treatment platform, and a clutch of admirals hovered near the main door, muttering.

Beverly watched as Picard ended his conversation with the captured crew and stepped over to the admirals. But then he looked over to her and the other woman as if they had called out to him, locked eyes with the other woman, set his jaw. Beverly turned to see the other woman nod across the room _,_  then the woman turned, deliberately ignoring both Beverly and Jean-Luc, walking over to a small gathering of captured crew. As she approached, the cohort expanded to bring her into the center; two members promptly embraced her unashamedly, relief on their faces. After a moment, the security personnel invited the group to leave through the side entrance, presumably towards freedom, a shuttle bay, a path back home. Without a backward glance, Beverly Picard, reunited with her crew, left.

_She gets to go home,_  Beverly thought with a cold slice of jealousy, then embarrassed shame -  _she had been captured, battered, impregnated against her will...home will bring that woman_  some  _comfort, but there is much still ahead of her._

Beverly looked back at Jean-Luc to observe him standing next to the awkward admirals, padd in hand, staring at the now empty doorway with an inscrutable expression. And while Beverly still felt a vague sense of jealousy towards the initial hunger he had revealed on his face when sharing a mental connection with the other woman, she didn't want him to feel pain. Because being connected to a woman who didn't love him had to be a bitterly painful experience. And she didn't want him to hurt any more.

Picard looked up then, blinked, met her eyes. Handed his padd to the admirals, closed the distance between them and met her face to face. "We're leaving," he murmured, voice low and quiet underneath the steady metallic noise of the platform being deconstructed and the relieved mutterings of the rescued crew members clustered together.

Beverly nodded, suddenly wanting to be away, away from Medical, away from the haunted eyes of the captured crew from other universes, out of this subterranean network of secret labs underneath the surface of Earth. "Take me out of here," she rasped, throat suddenly tight, and he took her arm and nearly dragged her out of the lab, back up the way they came, through corridors and passing medical crew who paid them no mind. After long moments, they emerged into more public areas of the giant building, sunlight streaming into floor to ceiling windows, families, children, medical officers going about the daily business of Medical. Then they exited out of the front doors, fresh air and sun hitting her face, but still he pulled her, she walking briskly to catch up, wanting to ask where he was taking her-

"I'm taking you home," he tossed over his shoulder, and she realized that she was speaking aloud her concerns. As they approached a public transporter platform, he continued, not meeting her eyes. "I have no ship and you have no lab," his words an echo of the brief time they spent in his bed, in France, in the farm house, under the dappled sunlight.

She stepped up next to him, feeling the coolness of the air once he seemingly reluctantly lifted his hand from her arm in preparation for transport. The beam took her for the familiar, brief pause, then her eyes adjusting after materialization to the darkened, nighttime vista of the town square, just a short walk from the farmhouse.

His voice punctuated the sound of leaves in trees. "But we belong together. And wherever we are together? That, my Beverly,  _that_  is home." After a moment, she realized that he was continuing the abrupt discussion they began while escaping Medical. Then the meaning of the words themselves penetrated her tense mind.

_Home. Our home is wherever we are. Together._

Her eyes blurred, and her throat closed up again with emotion. She reached out and took his hand, still on the platform, and looked out into the darkness, to a sleeping world.

"Yes," she whispered. "Let's go home."


End file.
